The Lady's War and the Gentleman's Engagement
by anolinde
Summary: In the fallout of her betrothal to Elphir, Gúthwyn must deal with the consequences - including an all-out war with Queen Lothíriel. Meanwhile, she begins to question her aversion to marriage. Rohan Pride Chronicles.
1. Declaration of Love

**A/N:** Allow me to apologize in advance for any confusion. The first sixty chapters of "The Lady's War and the Gentleman's Engagement" are originally from Part IV of The Rohan Pride Chronicles, "The Horse and the Swan" (formerly titled "Recovery"). Because Part IV was nearing two hundred chapters with no end in sight, I decided to split it into two stories: "The Horse and the Swan" and "The Lady's War and the Gentleman's Engagement." For those of you who read all 177 chapters of "Recovery," you can skip to Chapter 61 of "The Lady's War and the Gentleman's Engagement." For those of you who started reading "The Horse and the Swan" (or The Rohan Pride Chronicles in general) after all of these shenanigans and have absolutely idea what I'm talking about, just ignore me and keep reading. =)

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><p><strong>The Rohan Pride Chronicles<strong>

The Lady's War and the Gentleman's Engagement

By: anolinde

**Summary:  
><strong>In the fallout of her betrothal to Elphir, Gúthwyn must deal with the consequences - including an all-out war with Queen Lothíriel. Meanwhile, as she is increasingly forced to confront the reality of what happened to her in Mordor, she begins to question her aversion to marriage.

**About Part V:  
><strong>The upcoming events are based off of what I have learned from the appendices and various sources concerning the aftermath of the War of the Ring. I wish more was known, but unfortunately, it is not—thus, I have had to do much guesswork and fill in my own beliefs about what happened. Please bear with me.

**Chapter One**

Much to Gúthwyn's surprise and initial disappointment, life in Rohan did not settle down in the least after the departure of the Dol Amroth delegation. Their guests gone, the Eorlingas now had to turn their attentions to the harvest, upon which their hopes of being fed during the winter rested. Éomer and his advisors spent many an hour holed up in the council chamber, fervently discussing methods of adding to the Riddermark's revenues in case the year's crops did not yield as expected.

Gúthwyn, however, took no part in these sessions. Her energies were now almost entirely devoted to working around her broken wrists, which had very quickly proven themselves to be the most inconvenient injuries she had ever received. For three weeks, she had needed Éomer's assistance to get changed; she stopped requesting him not because the bones were healing, but because she was too humiliated to let the practice continue.

Although an arduous, time-consuming process in and of itself, dressing was but one of the daily tasks she could no longer take for granted. Eating was impossible, for she could not manipulate the utensils and she was unable to hold anything other than the lightest morsel of food. As a result, she lost a dangerous amount of weight in the first few weeks after Prince Imrahil's visit, despite her promise to Éomer to maintain a proper diet.

Finally declaring that this could continue no longer, Cobryn labored for several days in an effort to find a solution to her problem. What he at length devised was, without a doubt, one of the oddest contraptions she had ever come across. He presented to her a hollow reed, explaining that if she positioned the straw in her soup and used her mouth to suck at it, she would be able to ingest the liquid with minimal effort. To her astonishment, it worked, even if it did look rather silly.

Were it not for Cobryn, she doubted she would have lasted the first phase of her healing without going mad. Though Éomer was often tied up with appalling amounts of paperwork—only increasing as the winter months drew nearer—Cobryn accompanied her on walks around the city or simply visited her in her chambers, refusing to let her give into apathy even when she despaired of ever being able to use her hands again. He hardly had to make an effort: his mere presence would remind her that while her injuries were temporary, her friend's would be with him for the rest of his life.

During one of their discourses in the privacy of her room, she had at last informed him of what she had overheard between Lady Míriel and Lady Aewen, but much to her astonishment he had been utterly unmoved by Lothíriel's plight. His sympathies lay solely with Tegilbor, who had been murdered from a crime he had never committed, and he was unyielding in the matter of the queen.

"You have suffered far worse than she ever did," he reminded Gúthwyn darkly, "and you never turned to cruelty because of it."

Gúthwyn, on the other hand, while still confused about Lothíriel's reasoning for continuing Lady Míriel's campaign of slander and deceit, thought the queen's behavior towards the court of Dol Amroth perfectly justified—despite her own private misgivings about its nature. Éomund's daughter did not condone blackmail and the spreading of rumors, having grown all too acquainted with them in her years, but she could not truthfully say that the likes of Lady Míriel were undeserving of a such a reversal in fortune.

For a time, Gúthwyn tried to treat her brother's wife with more cordiality than before, but found that her overtures were received only with suspicion and, in some cases, outright animosity. Whenever Éomer was not around, Lothíriel made it perfectly clear that she did not believe Gúthwyn's version of Amrothos's assault. She often refused to dignify the other woman's attempts at conversation with more than a contemptuous glare, which grew fouler if Elfwine happened to be present and immediately gravitated towards his aunt.

Éomund's daughter could have born such stoniness without grief if the mantle of Lothíriel's ire had not been taken up by nearly all of the young women in Edoras. No sooner had the Dol Amroth delegation left than there was an explosion of rumors regarding the events in the stables, and it became painfully obvious that the majority of them did not accept Gúthwyn's story in the slightest. She was all but ostracized from the washing circles; Hildeth, Brytta, and Wífled were among the few that made an effort to include her.

Gúthwyn suspected that Nethiel was no longer the only one using their position in the royal household to spread gossip about the king's sister. Shortly after the appointment of Wífwen—Wulfríd's mother, as Hammel had been furious to discover—Éomund's daughter had made the colossal mistake of assuming that the woman would be professional enough to overcome their differences.

She had not thought twice about the maid volunteering to assist her with her hair—the one form of help Éomer had not needed to wear her down into accepting—nor Wífwen's sudden sweetness, when before their interactions had been rather chilly. Cobryn had once mentioned to her that perhaps she should wait to see where Wífwen's allegiances lay before trusting her inside her chambers, but Gúthwyn had brushed him off, not wanting to be suspicious of the servants within her own home.

It was not until highly detailed accounts of her time with Cobryn, including carefully selected snippets of dialogue chosen for the greatest damage to her reputation, began circulating around the streets of Edoras that Gúthwyn realized Wífwen had befriended her solely for the purpose of obtaining such information. Some of the conversations had been altered slightly, as if they had been overheard through a door and the person relaying them was not entirely sure about what had actually been said.

Gúthwyn thereafter unceremoniously kicked Wífwen out of her chambers, after which she noticed a subtle yet alarming increase in the amount of bullying Hammel was being subjected to. She could never prove that there was a link between the two situations, but part of her guessed that Wífwen was almost encouraging her son's behavior—the other half of her, naturally, was horrified that she was coming to such conclusions about one of her own people.

Hammel, mercifully, no longer seemed as affected by Wulfríd's taunting as he once had been. Even after the initial pleasure at having worked up the courage to ask Aldeth to dance faded, his spirits were improved, and he was less distant from Gúthwyn than he had been all year. Éomund's daughter made the most of this boon, and solicited him for walks as often as she could without pushing him away. He rarely revealed his thoughts to her, and indeed grew defensive if she inquired about them, but he did not spurn her company as he had before.

Haiweth, on the other hand, grew increasingly moody in the weeks following Imrahil's departure. She was quiet and reticent at mealtimes, lay on her bed and stared at the ceiling for long spells, and had even stopped drawing.

"I am worried about her," Gúthwyn confessed to Cobryn one afternoon, sitting with him in the great hall. She cast a glance in the direction of Lothíriel, who was on her throne next to Éomer and assisting him in conducting whatever business of the Rohirrim she could understand, but the queen was preoccupied with some papers and too far away to pay attention to Éomund's daughter. "She has never been this unhappy—I have tried to speak to her, but she says only that she is bored and that there is nothing to do in Edoras!"

Cobryn shrugged, yet it was not the gesture of one who could care less. "She reminds me of Onyveth," he remarked quietly, after checking to make sure that they were not in a position to be overheard. "Her last years"—his voice cracked, and he coughed as if he had something in his throat before continuing—"were marked by childish trials and tribulations. I know Feride and Chalibeth"—here Gúthwyn was the affected one, sharply drawing her breath—"were not of similar temperament, but the burdens of slavery did not fall so heavily upon Onyveth. Of the three of them, she alone managed to retain as normal a life as possible."

His voice was hoarse as it trailed off, and for a moment he and Éomund's daughter were silent, remembering the slaves at Isengard. Gúthwyn's eyes soon blurred as she recalled Chalibeth, her best friend for three years, who had been mercilessly torn apart by Wargs and had deserved far better than the death that was her lot. Never could she picture the girl without also thinking of the abuse she had suffered at the Serpent's hands—a crime that she had not fully understood the meaning of until Haldor.

At length, she swallowed, asking Cobryn, "You believe that Haiweth's situation is not unusual?"

Looking relieved that she had brought an end to their mutual brooding, Cobryn nodded. "Triggered, perhaps, by Alphros's departure, yet nothing out of the ordinary."

"But it has been a month since he left!" Gúthwyn exclaimed. "She has other friends to play with."

"Some of them have been sick lately," Cobryn reminded her.

Gúthwyn nodded thoughtfully. This was true—a cold was going around Edoras, one that she had felt the beginnings of earlier that day. "I wonder if Haiweth was not so enamored by the Dol Amroth nobility that she finds the Rohirrim dull in comparison."

While it pained Éomund's daughter that this might be so, the doings of high society had awed Haiweth from the moment she had seen her first dress. Gúthwyn herself did not care for gowns, jewelry, and dancing, but they delighted Haiweth and provided her with subjects for the majority of her drawings. Now that they were out of sight, and the shortcomings of the Eorlingas seemed especially heightened in their wake, it was altogether possible for Haiweth to feel as if she had no further sources of entertainment.

"Have you ever considered sending her to Gondor?" Cobryn asked then, startling her. "Queen Arwen has begun inducting daughters of the more respected families into her service. They act as her maids, but have higher status than servants—ladies-in-waiting, if you will."

Gúthwyn was appalled by such a suggestion. "I could never do that," she said immediately. "And Haiweth would never consent. She needs me."

Cobryn raised an eyebrow. "Or is it that you need her?"

"She has barely seen ten years!" Gúthwyn cried, ignoring the question.

"And in ten more she will be married," Cobryn said bluntly, "or of the age where she shall want to be."

Gúthwyn recoiled. "Haiweth has given no thought to finding a husband," she insisted. "A decade will not change that—Éowyn did not take a spouse until she was my age!" The very idea of Haiweth submitting herself to another man in that way was sickening.

"The War of the Ring took precedence over wedding plans," Cobryn said, "and Haiweth does not have to worry about that, nor does she have your reasons to avoid marriage. I would wager that by her twentieth birthday, a substantial amount of her thoughts shall be devoted to love, and before she finds it it would be wise for her to enter someone's patronage."

"No," Gúthwyn said shortly, refusing to contemplate Haiweth doing such a thing. "Do not try me, Cobryn," she added as her friend made to reply. "I cannot… she is too young." Her voice trailed off into a whisper, and she shivered as she recalled Haldor's chilling threat to rape Haiweth.

Cobryn shrugged, a gesture that indicated they would be returning to this conversation in the future. Gúthwyn glared at him, suddenly furious. How dare he be so presumptuous as to speak about Haiweth in that manner? How dare he even broach the subject of marriage with her? He did not appear abashed in the slightest, which outraged her. Why did men only see a bed when they looked at her child?

She would have left the table, but at that moment the doors opened, revealing a messenger who had been let in by one of the guards. His clothes were plain save for the tunic they could just see under his cloak—it was a deep blue, indicating that he had come from Dol Amroth. Because Imrahil's realm was so prosperous, solitary Dol Amroth travelers took care to conceal their origins, wary of robbers who might make the connection.

Glancing at Éomer, Gúthwyn was not surprised to see that her brother's face had tightened considerably, though he made an effort to conceal his displeasure as the messenger approached. There was no topic sorer with Éomer than that of Dol Amroth; his anger had only increased as the weeks went on and his sister's wrists showed no signs of healing.

Obviously aware of the less than warm perception from the Rohirric king—and more than a little anxious about the cold looks he was receiving from several of the soldiers who happened to be inside—the messenger cleared his throat and, his eyes darting briefly towards the various swords that were worn openly in the hall, announced, "A letter from Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth to King Éomer of Rohan, with the hope that it will be responded to."

Communications between the two realms had all but stopped after the disastrous visit. Even Lothíriel, given to write almost daily to her family, had stilled her usual torrent of letters. Gúthwyn suspected that it was a bitter sacrifice for the queen, but one that went wholly unacknowledged by Éomer. She could not imagine what it would be like to no longer be able to write as freely to Éowyn as she was accustomed.

Her mood was lifted slightly as she thought of her older sister, who had sent word not long after the departure of Imrahil's people and inquired about the visit. Gúthwyn had dictated to Cobryn a brief account of how she had broken her wrists, barely mentioning Amrothos and making it seem as if both injuries had occurred when she clumsily tripped. Cobryn had frowned at this, but she checked the letter afterwards and he had dutifully copied down all of her lies.

Éomer she had pressed to use similar discretion, reminding him that Faramir was Amrothos's cousin and that Éowyn would most certainly inform him if the younger prince had earned ill repute in Rohan. So it was that a highly edited version of events had passed to the White Lady, explaining only that Gúthwyn had been in an accident and that the rest of the visit had gone smoothly, save for the tournament.

"I wonder who the second letter is for," Cobryn muttered then, causing her to look up in confusion. That was when she realized that Éomer held not one, but two envelopes in his hand; the second had evidently been placed in the original. Lothíriel discreetly looked over her husband's shoulder to see to whom it was addressed.

"I think it is mine," Gúthwyn said slowly when the queen's shrewd gaze fixed on her. It was a look of both anger and wariness—Éomund's daughter was curious as to what Imrahil could possibly have to say to her, but she was willing to bet that Lothíriel was doubly so, and perhaps even stung that her own father had not bothered to write to her.

A month ago, Gúthwyn would have derived some satisfaction from the queen's discomfort, but knowing what she did about the woman's past she could no longer feel the same way. Now she merely waited for Éomer to finish reading his letter, watching idly as the messenger left the hall without so much as a bite to eat. Food had been offered half-heartedly to him; he had mumbled something about reservations at a tavern. No one cared enough to press him for further information.

"Sister," Éomer called a few moments later, waving the envelope at her. "For you," he explained. When she had stood up and walked over to him, he asked, "Would you like me to open it?"

Gúthwyn shook her head. Whatever Imrahil had written to her, she did not want Lothíriel to catch a glimpse of it.

"Are you sure?" Éomer questioned worriedly. "You should not strain your wrists."

"I will be fine, brother," Gúthwyn said, mildly exasperated. She had not even been able to pick up the last letter she had received—the one from Éowyn—but enough time had passed since then that she was confident she could at least manage to slit the parchment open.

However, after Éomer reluctantly acquiesced and she returned to her seat, she found that she could not so much as make a single tear in the envelope. Frustrated, she seized a small carving knife that had been lying on the table, yet all her endeavors with the blade were similarly fruitless.

Cobryn watched her for perhaps thirty seconds before silently holding out his hand. Gúthwyn ignored him as long as she could until she had no choice but to relent, having come no closer to her goal than she was five minutes ago. "Knowing when to accept help is a virtue you lack," he muttered, giving the now opened letter back to her.

"Speak for yourself," Gúthwyn retorted. Though his leg pained him on many an occasion, and made it difficult for him to do simple things such as mounting a horse, Cobryn was notorious in his refusal to seek assistance. He did not even use the herbal remedies many a healer had sworn by, preferring to lie through his teeth and say that the pain was hardly noticeable.

Sighing, Éomund's daughter used the tips of her fingers to extract the letter, trying to put as little strain on her wrists as possible. To her astonishment, yet another envelope had been concealed in the parchment. She was barely recovering from this surprise when she saw that it was addressed to Haiweth, in a clumsy script that looked nothing like Imrahil's.

_What is going on?_ she wondered, bewildered.

Smoothing out her letter—she needed her arms to do this, an awkward practice that was only mildly helpful—Gúthwyn knitted her brow and read:

_Lady Gúthwyn,_

_Enclosed you will find a note from my grandson to Haiweth. Alphros has repeatedly expressed a desire to maintain his friendship with her—it seems he has developed the family taste for written communication—yet his father would not allow it and so we have had to resort to this secrecy. If Haiweth has your permission to reply, I will continue to send Alphros's letters hidden inside my own. It is regrettable that these precautions are necessary, but I would rather be inconvenienced than deny my grandson a companion._

_If you are agreeable to these discretions, I would advise not informing my daughter of them, for she may feel honor-bound to send notice to Elphir. Should she see you with this envelope and make an inquiry, simply say that I have decided to expand my circle of correspondents to include you. I hid this letter with Éomer's in the hopes that she would not become aware of it, but depending on when it was delivered this may not have come to pass the way I planned._

_Kindly send me a response indicating whether you feel it appropriate for Haiweth to be exchanging tidings with Alphros, preferably along with Éomer's next letter. I shall support your decision, regardless of my own thoughts on the matter._

_Imrahil_

Gúthwyn blinked. _What an odd request,_ she thought. _I have no qualms with such a proposal._

"Alphros wants to write to Haiweth," she explained to Cobryn, who had been watching her expectantly upon seeing that she was done perusing the letter's contents. "Imrahil has asked that I give my permission first." Although she often conversed with Cobryn in the Common Tongue, his native language, now she switched to Rohirric, hoping that it would deter Lothíriel from attempting to overhear them.

"I take it Elphir does not approve," Cobryn said unnecessarily.

"No," Gúthwyn answered bitingly, a rush of anger temporarily overwhelming her. "He feels that the children of Edoras are unsuitable playmates for his son."

Inwardly seething at such a caustic remark, Gúthwyn could not help but also marvel at her own stupidity for failing to have perceived this arrogance in Elphir from the moment they met. How had she been so blinded by his charms?

"When would you like to dictate a response?" Cobryn questioned, drawing her out of her thoughts.

"Perhaps after dinner tonight?" Gúthwyn suggested. "I am watching Elfwine later this afternoon while you, Éomer, and Lothíriel are in council."

Although initially irate that his aunt could no longer lift him, Elfwine had adjusted astoundingly well to her injuries. Whenever they walked together, he now latched onto her arms instead of her hands; during meals, he had learned to crawl onto her lap from the next person over without any assistance. Had the Dol Amroth delegation been present, this would have been cause for Lothíriel to adjust the seating arrangements, but now she had no excuse and could only watch her son in barely-veiled disapproval.

Sighing, Éomund's daughter glanced towards the corridor leading to Éomer's rooms, where her nephew was currently being fed by Bregwyn. She had not seen Elfwine for the entire day, and already missed hearing his enthusiastic babbling. Words could not describe how envious she was of those able to hold him properly.

"Gúthwyn?"

For the second time in the past three minutes, Cobryn's voice shook her out of her thoughts. "Forgive me," Gúthwyn apologized. "What were you saying?"

"After dinner?" he repeated, confirming.

Éomund's daughter nodded. The timing of the appointment meant that they would have to wait until Éomer and Lothíriel retired before they could begin composing; it was better for the queen to be occupied with her family while they were doing so. Risking a glance towards the thrones, Gúthwyn saw that the other woman was still watching her, icy grey eyes narrowed in the direction of the king's sister and his advisor.

More to put an end to the uncomfortable prickling sensation at the back of her neck than anything, Gúthwyn rose to her feet and announced that she was going to find Haiweth and deliver the letter. Marching out of the hall, she approached Haiweth's door and knocked on it with her foot.

"Who is it?" a dull, listless voice asked.

"It is I, little one," Gúthwyn replied. "May I come in?"

After a pause, the bed creaked and the sound of Haiweth's footsteps met her ears. "I am bored," the girl complained when she had let Gúthwyn in. "There is nothing to do anymore."

Gúthwyn held the letter out, grinning as if she had just found a solution to all of Rohan's food problems. Realizing that it was for her, Haiweth rescued it from its precarious balance on Gúthwyn's arm and wrinkled her nose.

"Who is it from?" she wanted to know.

"Read it and see," Éomund's daughter encouraged her, praying that this would at least temporarily banish the child's bad mood.

Haiweth dubiously tore the envelope open, her suspicious expression changing instantly when she saw the name laboriously signed at the bottom. "It is Alphros!" she cried, her face lighting up.

"Imrahil told me that Alphros wanted to correspond with you," Gúthwyn explained, delighted to see the girl so happy. "He wrote to me first in hopes that I would consent."

Haiweth's eyes widened anxiously. "Did you?" she swiftly interrogated Éomund's daughter.

"Of course I did!" Gúthwyn assured her, astonished that there had been any shred of doubt. "Or rather, I will, as soon as Cobryn puts my response to the parchment."

"Thank you!" Haiweth exclaimed. Her curls flew in all directions as she eagerly bounced up and down, still clutching the letter in her hand.

Gúthwyn laughed. "Is life looking better now, little one?" she queried. "Will the old Haiweth return?"

Haiweth nodded vigorously. "And Alwyn does not have the fever anymore!" she announced. "His mother said that he and Eafwen can play with me tomorrow!" Alwyn and Eafwen were two of her cohorts—as Éomer affectionately referred to them—always ready to start a rambunctious game of tag or partake in various kinds of mischief. They had been bedridden for the past week, sick with a particularly vicious strain of the cold that Gúthwyn was just waiting to contract.

Although Haiweth's renewed interactions with the siblings would likely hasten that process, Gúthwyn was glad that the girl had at last found something to cheer her up. "Shall I leave you to write a letter to Alphros?" she inquired, beaming.

Haiweth nodded. "I am going to draw him a picture," she decided. "He likes horses. May I draw Sceoh?"

Gúthwyn informed her that she could, though not without feeling a small pang of regret. Elfhelm, Sceoh's previous owner, had agreed to exercise her horse while she was unable to, and already Gúthwyn could sense that her progress with the animal had receded drastically. Sceoh now stamped his feet in fear when she stepped inside his stall; despite the fact that she could do nothing but talk to him, he was perpetually anxious, and calmed down only when she had put a safe distance between them.

_Well, what did you expect?_ she asked herself a moment later, having taken her leave of Haiweth. She stared at the ground as she walked, silently focusing all of her frustration on the stone paneling. _You know he had only just gotten accustomed to your touch. Being returned to Elfhelm certainly did not help matters._

"_Baby_ sister."

The way the words were spat out, a foul-tasting disease upon the mouth of the speaker, told Gúthwyn that it was not Éomer who had hailed her. Repressing the urge to groan, Éomund's daughter came to a halt and glanced up, meeting Lothíriel's eyes.

"What?" she snapped, barely restraining herself from sounding as irritated as she felt.

"Why is my father writing to you?" the queen demanded, her voice low so as not to attract the attention of anyone in the throne room—which, Gúthwyn noticed wistfully, was only ten feet away.

The sooner she ended this conversation, the better. "The same reason he writes to you," Gúthwyn said tersely, jutting out her chin in defiance. "He likes to remain in touch."

"Your reputation cannot withstand another blow," Lothíriel warned her, dangerously quiet. "If I were you, I would not add being dishonest to your list of unfortunate character traits."

Struggling to reign in her temper, reminding herself that Lothíriel had a reason to be as unpleasant as she was, Gúthwyn said only, "I have told you the truth."

"I was not born yesterday," Lothíriel snapped, "but you clearly were if you think I will swallow that lie. Why would Imrahil, Prince of Dol Amroth, wish to correspond with Gúthwyn, a whore who added his youngest son to her list of conquests?"

"You—"

"There you two are!"

"Gúthy!"

Both women jumped, Lothíriel recovering the quickest and turning to her husband with a perfect smile on her face. "Éomer, forgive me, am I late to the council?"

"We are about to start," Éomer said. "Sister, are you all right?"

For Gúthwyn's face was pale, her fists clenched.

"Give me Gúthy," Elfwine ordered, ignorant of his aunt's demeanor. He pushed at his father's chest and pointed at the object of his attentions. "Gúthy now!"

"Gúthwyn?" Éomer pressed, hushing his son when she did not answer. Lothíriel's face was exquisitely mask-like as he drew closer.

"I am fine," Gúthwyn said, exhaling deeply to expel the rush of memories that had temporarily overcome her. She could not, would not think of what Amrothos had done to her. "Shall I take Elfwine?"

Éomer nodded. "A thousand thanks, baby sister," he murmured, lowering the child to the ground. "Can you walk to your aunt, Elfwine?"

"Gúthy!" Elfwine shrieked, toddling towards Éomund's daughter with his arms outstretched. He did not even look at his mother, whose face was carved of trembling stone. Despite briefly wondering what it was like to be ignored by one's own son, Gúthwyn could not dwell long on the matter when faced with an adorable baby who was clamoring for her attention. Crouching down, she swept Elfwine into as tight a hug as she was able to without the use of her hands.

"Hello, little one," she murmured into a mass of soft, dark locks. "What do you want to do today?"

Elfwine grinned. As Éomer bade them farewell and departed with Lothíriel for the council meeting, he pulled back from Gúthwyn slightly so that he could look directly into her eyes. "I love you," he said proudly, evidently pleased with himself for remembering the right words.

Gúthwyn's breath caught in her throat, and she felt the beginnings of a melting heart. Why was it getting so difficult to see her nephew?

"Effine love Gúthy." The adamant declaration was accompanied by him sticking out his tongue.

Éomer was too far away to have heard, but Lothíriel had not yet entered the great hall. In that moment she halted, turning around slowly to behold Éomund's daughter embracing her firstborn child. Neither her rival nor her son noticed that they were being observed; their attentions were devoted solely to the other, to the exclusion of everyone else.

"I love Gúthy," Elfwine repeated then, confirming what the queen had dreaded.

"I love you, too, little one," Gúthwyn whispered as Lothíriel swept out of the corridor.


	2. The White Lady's Arrival

**Chapter Two**

Lothíriel was never able to discover why Imrahil continued to send letters to her rival, though it was not for lack of trying. Gúthwyn was ruthlessly interrogated by her for almost a month before finally losing her temper and telling the other woman that if she ever attempted to extract such information from her again, she would write to Imrahil and inform him of his daughter's behavior.

She had not expected the threat to work, but much to her surprise it seemed to have struck an unseen chord within Lothíriel, for the queen had not troubled her after that. Haiweth's correspondence with Alphros was not deterred in the slightest. Although the two of them were less dutiful in their writing than Gúthwyn and Elphir had been, at least one exchange passed between them every couple of months.

Éomer also sporadically received news from Imrahil, though the tidings became increasingly formal until Gúthwyn feared that a permanent strain had been put on their friendship. When she probed the matter with her brother, however, she learned nothing; he seemed determined to avoid speaking ill of the prince. Eventually she let the matter rest, thanks to Lothíriel knowing fully well how irritating it was to be perpetually pressed for answers.

The winter passed without event, unless one counted the innumerable colds and sicknesses Éomund's daughter contracted. She was constantly feverish, forced to spend days at a time in bed, and often her body was wracked with a horrible cough that left her curled over in agony. Luckily, her wrists fared slightly better. By the time spring came around and with it her renewed health, she was able to lift Framwine again, and to her delight the ability to actually swing the blade arrived not long afterwards. Furthermore, she was able to ride Sceoh, and while it took weeks of careful persuasion to convince him to bear her, she could at least take him through the streets for some exercise.

Adding to her happiness, Éowyn and Éomer spent the month of March arranging the former's visit to Rohan, which would take place in June and thus run through both Gúthwyn and Elfwine's birthdays. Although the toddler had no concept of the occasion, Éomund's daughter prayed that this one would be better than the last. Faramir's presence in her home would be difficult, especially on the seventh, but as long as she was able to endure that day she could suffer the rest.

Spring ebbed away, a time in Gúthwyn's life where recovery seemed possible. During this season she only needed three candles to fall asleep, and when she awoke it was often to the realization that she had had no nightmares. She was able to join her family for lunch, sometimes even breakfast, and could stomach sufficient fare. She began gaining weight; her skin lost its pallor and a glow appeared on her cheeks. Éomer was thrilled, and had less harsh words for her than ever before.

Finding herself with a sudden surplus of energy—she had not realized how weary she was until a lifestyle of voluntary starvation was cast away—Gúthwyn poured it into caring for Elfwine and reviving her sessions at the training grounds. Éomer was at first reluctant for her to resume them, afraid that she might permanently damage her wrists, but Gúthwyn finally succeeded in wearing him down. Cobryn acquired a couple of braces, more effective at protecting her bones than the guards she traditionally used to hide the Eye, and she wore both just in case.

Her first day practicing with the men was humorous in all its disastrous glory. Even though her friends purposely went easier on her—something she would never admit to being glad for—she lost every single match, usually because her opponent succeeded in knocking Framwine out of her weak grasp. Most of the warriors did not know whether to pity her or to laugh at her. Gúthwyn encouraged the latter, joking about how terrible she had become, but that afternoon made her more determined than ever to reach her former capabilities.

She spent the entire months of April and May striving to achieve this goal. Both Éomer and Cobryn sought to dissuade her from this, warning that she would come to regret it—the latter using his own leg as proof—but Gúthwyn ignored them and simply learned ways to avoid taking the brunt of an adversary's blade. Gradually she reclaimed victories from the men. First to be defeated were the younger, recently-initiated members of various_ éoreds_. Slowly she worked her way up the rankings, until once again only the Marshals and Gamling were able to fend her off.

The swiftness with which she returned to her former prowess highly impressed the male population of Edoras, but the women were less pleased. Gúthwyn grew to suspect that Elfhelm's words, spoken so long ago, had no small amount of truth in them: _they are jealous, I think, because you talk to the men far more easily than they._ Younger females with whom she had never even conversed threw dirty glares at her in the street, and those who had the affection of a soldier drew them possessively close whenever Éomund's daughter passed, as if afraid that she would drag them behind the stables right then and there.

Lothíriel was not helping matters. Unrestrained by their queen, maids such as Nethiel and Wífwen were waging social warfare on Gúthwyn, who did not have the patience to fight back and as a consequence was steadily losing her reputation. She altogether abandoned going to the washing circles, for the girls there openly muttered about her doings with the men and laughed unpleasantly whenever she looked at them.

Éomer knew nothing of his sister's treatment at the hands of his wife. Gúthwyn did not want to be the person who made him choose between them; she spoke naught of the rumors swirling through Edoras, of the growing animosity between her and the women. Instead, she passed the hours in the company of the men—which only served to fuel more whispers—and Elfwine, with whom her bond grew tighter every day.

Her brother's son was learning to run, something that greatly vexed Lothíriel, who had very limited tolerance when it came to following him and preventing him from getting into mischief. Gúthwyn found herself emerging as Elfwine's care-taker in all but official title, besides Éomer the only one who could control him in any sense. Despite the fact that he had not seen two years, Elfwine seemed to intuit that she would never have the heart to punish him, yet if he detected but the slightest amount of disapproval on her part he would immediately cease what he was doing and seek to regain her favor.

Between the hours she spent with Elfwine, her renewed proficiency in swordsmanship, and the fact that both Hammel and Haiweth were content in their lives, Gúthwyn could safely say that she was happier that spring than she had been in what felt like years. On the afternoon before Éowyn and Faramir were due to arrive in Edoras—the first day of June—she found herself wandering up and down the main street with Elfwine, informing her nephew about what would happen on the morrow.

"Who Far'mir?" Elfwine demanded, having just grilled Éomund's daughter about Éowyn (whom he called 'Wyn, still unable to pronounce the first part of her name).

"Your uncle, little one," Gúthwyn replied, unwilling to talk about her sister's husband any further.

Elfwine frowned dubiously, craning his neck to look up at her. "Effir my uncle," he offered. "Not Far'mir."

Gúthwyn barely resisted the urge to smile. For Éowyn's sake, and Éowyn's sake alone, she corrected him. "You have four uncles, silly. Just like you have two aunts: Éowyn and I."

"Aunt?" Elfwine echoed. The word was foreign to him; Éomund's daughter was known solely as Gúthy.

"Your papa's sisters," Gúthwyn said by way of explanation. "Oh, little one, watch out!"

She picked Elfwine up just in time to keep him from walking into a guard, whom at first she did not recognize because her eyes, having been studiously watching her nephew, were level with his boots. At the sound of her voice, the man turned from the sword he was sharpening and greeted her with a broad, if tentative, smile: Tun.

"Good afternoon, my lady," he murmured, bowing.

"Tun!" Elfwine interjected before Gúthwyn could respond. He squirmed until she lowered him to the ground and then stared up at Tun, utterly undaunted by his height. "Gúthy tell me 'bout Far'mir! He my uncle!"

Tun grinned. "You are lucky to have one so noble as Lady Éowyn's husband." Out of the corner of his mouth, he muttered to Gúthwyn, "Considering the rest turned out to be filthy bastards…"

Gúthwyn blushed. Upon learning of her being assaulted by Amrothos, Tun had been outraged, taking the news as a personal insult. She was very glad that the Dol Amroth delegation had left by the time her champion was informed, for it was difficult enough to convince him to remain in bed even when the offender was long out of reach. As it were, it had taken him two full months to recover from his injuries, and another three before he had been able to endure the rigors of his training.

"Gúthy says I has _four_ uncles!" Elfwine exclaimed then, holding out five triumphant fingers. "Effir one, Far'mir one." He paused for a moment, studiously considering Tun. "You one?" he asked at length.

"No, I am not," Tun replied quietly. He looked at Gúthwyn then; Éomund's daughter saw reflected in his eyes, _But I could have been._

Out of respect for Brithwen, Gúthwyn hastily said, "Elfwine is also excited about seeing Legolas again." Legolas was once more passing between Mirkwood—_no, Eryn Lasgalen_, she had to keep reminding herself—and Ithilien. The Elves being far better guests than the Dol Amroth delegation, in addition to the fact that they contributed many a day's hunt to the table, Éomer had extended an open invitation for the prince to stay through Gúthwyn and Elfwine's birthdays, which he hinted would be celebrated but was being highly secretive as to how.

"Leg!" Elfwine exclaimed then, looking horrified that he had forgotten. "I friends with Leg!"

Tun smiled at Elfwine's enthusiasm. "You know," he said, winking at Gúthwyn as he knelt down to be at eye level with the child, "I think Legolas would prefer to be called Leggy."

Gúthwyn nearly choked.

"Leggy?" Elfwine echoed suspiciously, testing the taste on his tongue.

"Leggy," Tun repeated solemnly.

"Tun," Éomund's daughter gasped amidst giggles, "you are horrible…"

"Uncle Leggy," Elfwine decided, liking his aunt's reaction.

"No." Instantly sobering, Gúthwyn corrected her nephew, perhaps sharper than necessary. Tun glanced at her. "He is not your uncle."

"Not uncle Leggy," Elfwine agreed, though he looked rather put out that Gúthwyn did not concur with him. "Friend Leggy."

Both Gúthwyn and Tun were nearly doubled over in silent mirth. Taking their merriment as a sign of approval, Elfwine abandoned the use of Leg and began to refer to the Elf exclusively as Leggy, clamoring for the prince's presence that instant.

"Tun," Gúthwyn murmured breathlessly, barely able to stand upright, "you should not have…"

An image came to her mind then of Elfwine using Legolas's new nickname in front of the entire throne room—a scenario in which Legolas's traveling companions, particularly Raniean, were conspicuously absent—and she could not continue the reprimand for laughing so hard.

"What?" Tun asked innocently, his eyes sparkling as he beheld her struggling for words.

"Gúthy, what?" Elfwine chimed in, mimicking her champion.

"Tun?"

The sound of Brithwen's voice was like a bucket of cold water being thrown over Tun. He stiffened, the light in his eyes extinguished, and straightened to face his wife. Gúthwyn inwardly cringed when she saw how guilty he looked, and how easily Brithwen detected the emotion.

The ensuing awkward pause was broken when Elfwine, not knowing why his aunt and her champion were no longer happy, and thoroughly irritated by the fact, stepped towards Brithwen and demanded, "Who you?"

"This is Brithwen, little one," Gúthwyn said cheerfully, not wishing her voice to betray any of her discomfort. She was fully aware that Brithwen, while more reasonable than most of the women apparently inhabiting Edoras these days, was hardly thrilled by her husband's lingering love for Éomund's daughter. It was a slight she bore every day, one that Gúthwyn felt terrible for but was unable to do anything about. Now, she attempted to compensate for stealing Brithwen's position in Tun's heart by recommending her well to Elfwine, who often depended on her mannerisms around a person to determine whether they were friend or foe.

Smiling hesitantly at her champion's wife, she continued, "Can you say Brithwen, Elfwine?"

"Brithen," Elfwine obliged, and finally made his decision. "Brithen, Gúthy says I has _four_ uncles!"

Unsure of what to say, Brithwen at length replied, "That is very impressive."

Elfwine nodded, though he had no idea what impressive meant. "Gúthy, want Papa," he said abruptly, bored of the woman. "Where Papa?"

"At a council meeting, little one," Gúthwyn replied.

Elfwine pouted. He was now well familiar with the response, having been told it innumerable times over the winter. Éomer and his councilors had met nearly every day, worrying and fretting about the food supply, which luckily had not dwindled as direly as predicted. The weather, Gúthwyn knew, had played a benevolent role this year—it was a much milder season than the ones previous, and spring's arrival had not been such a relief as it normally was.

"We… we, ah, should be going," Tun announced then. Gúthwyn's attention was on Elfwine and she did not notice her champion's reluctance, but Brithwen did.

"Yes, husband," she said, putting a particular emphasis on the last word that caused Éomund's daughter to look up. "We should not be intruding on others."

Gúthwyn knew that she was not supposed to protest otherwise.

"Farewell, my lady," Tun murmured, his face flushed as he bowed.

"Will you be at Meduseld tomorrow to greet Éowyn?" Gúthwyn inquired, automatically leaving out Faramir.

"Of course," Tun assured her. "I am looking forward to it."

"As am I," Gúthwyn replied, and then waved as the couple began walking back to their home.

She sighed. Part of her resented Brithwen for ruining what had been a lighthearted moment, but a stronger voice reminded her that Brithwen had suffered more than enough on her account, and that she should not be complaining when it was she who had rejected her champion. However, regardless of how many times she told herself this, she longed for the old friendship between her and Tun. Their relationship had improved over the winter, yet they were nowhere near as close as they had once been.

"Gúthy, when 'Wyn be here?" Elfwine asked then, drawing her out of her unhappiness. She looked down and realized that he was tugging at her dress; his wide eyes were quizzical, and never before had they seemed so innocent.

_You are adorable,_ she thought, bending over and spontaneously hugging her nephew. "Soon, little one," she whispered in his ear, causing him to giggle at the tickling sensation.

"Leggy come, too?"

"Yes, he will," Gúthwyn confirmed, smiling at the Elf's new nickname despite the twinge of nervousness in her heart. While she and Legolas had parted on good terms, and she had even permitted him to help her into a cloak on the night her wrists had broken, she could not rid herself of the memories that prevented her from being comfortable around him. She could not so much as glance at him without seeing Haldor, without seeing the essence of all her fears rolled into one horrible being.

"Want Leggy," Elfwine sighed.

"You want many things, little one," Gúthwyn said.

"Want Papa."

"What about Mama?" Gúthwyn asked curiously. Not once had she ever heard Elfwine request Lothíriel.

"Mama busy," Elfwine said bluntly, sticking his fingers in his mouth.

"Being a queen is no easy task," Gúthwyn informed her nephew, yet inwardly she wondered how Lothíriel could find something more important than the care of her son.

_That is why she is a ruler, and you are not,_ the logical part of her declared. _You do not bear the burden of managing Rohan, and thus you have the time to be with Elfwine. Between meetings, paperwork, and tutoring, it is a wonder Lothíriel has a spare moment at all._

Elfwine looked disgruntled. In an effort to distract him from his mood, Gúthwyn cleared her throat and inquired brightly, "Shall we play tag?"

They spent the rest of the day exercising Elfwine's newfound ability to run.

* * *

><p>The first of June was a bright, sunny day, one that seemed to mirror Gúthwyn's mood exactly. Though the prospect of seeing Faramir was by no means a happy one, her excitement at finally reuniting with Éowyn was enough to override any such anxieties. Her sister was due to arrive at noon; Gúthwyn awoke three hours before and promptly joined the maids in the preparations, much to Lothíriel's disgust. Éomund's daughter ignored her.<p>

Hammel was forced to give up his room for the White Lady, but he did not complain and dutifully removed all of his belongings. He seemed to not want Gúthwyn present while he did this; she obliged him and spent the time with Elfwine, who was feeling left out amidst the hustle and bustle of activity. She entertained her nephew with various games until she was able to return to Éowyn's chambers.

He then clung to her, refusing to let go, and not having the heart to spurn his company Gúthwyn resorted to doing everything one-handed. It was either that, or put him under the authority of Éomer and Lothíriel, who had mysteriously disappeared mid-morning. Gúthwyn had a suspicion as to where they had gone, and she did not want to confirm it by searching for them. She told herself that Elfwine had been given to her because her brother and his wife were discussing the upcoming visit in the privacy of their quarters.

"My lady, you have done enough," Cwene said firmly, after an hour of watching Gúthwyn clean with a squirming toddler in her arms. "We can manage from here."

"Are you sure?" Gúthwyn asked, shifting Elfwine onto her other hip as she spoke. The young prince laughed, tugging at her hair in a bid for even more attention.

"_More_ than enough," Cwene affirmed, making a shooing motion.

"Gúthy, _play_," Elfwine pleaded, sensing weakness. He was worn out; spending this much time in one room, even if it was with his aunt, had bored him.

"All right," she murmured, nodding at Cwene. While her relations with the older woman were still strained from her birthday the year before, recognizing it to be her own fault Gúthwyn had done her best to converse normally with the maid. "Come, little one, you and I shall find a place in the throne room where we will not be disturbing the others." The others, in this case, were the servants currently running about in the great hall, pushing tables together and getting them ready for the noon meal.

As it turned out, however, there were few areas in which Gúthwyn and her nephew could sequester themselves without being tripped over by a harried maid. Finally, Éomund's daughter procured a set of toy soldiers and ushered Elfwine outside, where she set him up on the landing and allowed him to do battle to his heart's content. While this required her to move frequently to prevent him from getting too close to the stairs or the precipitous drop over the edges, she delighted in seeing him order about his men.

The guards were highly entertained by this spectacle. The sight of the king's sister and the heir of Rohan sprawled across the flagstone, conducting fierce skirmishes that often escalated into actual physical conflict—Elfwine shrieking with glee as he flung himself at his aunt—was not something they had the privilege of beholding every day. Although they were supposed to maintain a somber façade at all times, more than once Gúthwyn could have sworn she heard chuckles coming from Ceorl and Eanwulf's helmets.

About fifteen minutes before noon, Éomer emerged from the hall, a subtle lift to his steps that made the guards glance knowingly at each other. He arrived just in time to see Gúthwyn lying on her back, having just succumbed to Elfwine's newest assault. The toddler was crawling over her ribs and snatching at her hair, unaware that his victim had carefully positioned her hands to keep him from falling.

"In public, sister?" Éomer asked with a small groan, reaching down and prizing his son off of Gúthwyn. Elfwine gave an indignant squawk as he was torn from his beloved Gúthy, only to have it turn into an ecstatic squeal when he realized who it was.

Gúthwyn sat up, brushing several strands of hair away from her face. "There was nowhere else to go," she pointed out, getting to her feet and dusting herself off. A quick glance at the main road revealed a number of people whose gazes were fixed on the royal family, their mouths curved in amusement.

Éomer rolled his eyes, but chose not to comment. "Éowyn and Faramir will be here soon," he instead informed her, "as will Legolas. You should change."

Gúthwyn briefly examined her outfit. It was grey, unflattering, and decorated in but a fine layer of dirt. "As you wish," she conceded with a sigh.

"Wear something white," Éomer encouraged her. "You have not worn that color in years!"

"It does not suit me," Gúthwyn tossed over her shoulder as she walked back into Meduseld. She did not pause to listen to his retort, nor did she slow her pace until she had reached the privacy of her chambers. There, she shed her garments and substituted her favorite green gown—not without some difficulty, for her wrists were still inadequate for the intricacies of delicate, nimble handwork. She caught a glimpse of her flesh in the mirror as she did so and reflected that, though the scars had not done much in the way of fading, her figure had filled out so that her appearance was no longer skeletal.

_Éowyn will be pleased,_ she decided, running a comb through her hair to complete the look. The last time her sister had seen her, Gúthwyn had spent the months previous barely eating, a combination due to both illnesses and, more influentially, the dread of marrying Elphir. Horrified by the results, Éowyn had attempted several times to convince the younger of Éomund's daughters to eat more, but all of her efforts had been in vain.

At the sound of renewed scurrying outside in the corridor, Gúthwyn hastily set down her brush and left her room. Since Éowyn and Legolas's entourages were likely making the final leg of the journey together, Éomer had elected to receive them outside, where they would be less pressed for space. Part of this was also for the benefit of the public, for whom the appearances of both their White Lady and an Elven prince was cause for vast quantities of excitement.

A minute later, she rejoined Éomer on the stairs, quickly scanning the group of people that had clustered below them for Hammel and Haiweth. She found them standing next to Cobryn, Hammel engaged in some form of serious discourse with the man while Haiweth stared dreamily off into space. Gúthwyn smiled at this; the girl had a rather large imagination that she liked to exercise at every opportunity.

In Gúthwyn's absence, Lothíriel had taken her place at her husband's side, and was cradling Elfwine in her arms in precisely the way her son hated to be held. Éomund's daughter winced, wondering if she should say something—it was a question of how far Lothíriel would leap down her throat.

Elfwine solved the problem for her. "Gúthy!" he shrieked, reaching out for her. "I want Gúthy!"

"Son, behave," Éomer warned, not noticing the hurt expression on Lothíriel's face. Only Gúthwyn observed it, and even then it was so fleeting that she almost thought she had imagined it.

"Give me Gúthy!" Elfwine ordered, yanking at the queen's hair as Éomer turned away, distracted by a friendly conversation with Erkenbrand.

"Do _not_ use that tone of voice with me!" Lothíriel hissed, pulling her locks out of his grasp. Elfwine stared at his suddenly empty hands and burst into noisy tears, wailing for his aunt.

If looks could kill, Gúthwyn would have been dead that instant. "Take him," Lothíriel snapped under her breath, holding her screaming son out as if he were a filthy animal that needed a bath. "I should be astounded that he managed to last this long without his precious little Gúthy." Her tone was acidic with hatred.

Fearing for Elfwine's safety—the other woman's nostrils were flared, her eyes shooting daggers—Gúthwyn hastily leaped forward and scooped the toddler into her arms. He clung to her, whimpering; Lothíriel's gaze was almost black with loathing. Rarely had Éomund's daughter seen her so angry.

Throughout all of this, Éomer obliviously discussed war tactics with Erkenbrand.

"Hush," Gúthwyn whispered, rubbing her nephew's back soothingly and at the same time moving away from Lothíriel. "There is no need to cry."

"Gúthy," Elfwine bawled, grabbing several fistfuls of her hair. "Mama mean!"

Feeling Lothíriel's murderous eyes boring holes into her body, Gúthwyn walked down the stairs, all the while consoling her nephew. It was a number of minutes before he was sufficiently calmed to begin babbling again.

"Down," he said.

Smiling, Gúthwyn kissed his brow and lowered him to the ground, keeping a gentle hold on the neck of his tunic. "No wandering, little one," she admonished him when he tried to scramble away. "We are going to wait right here for Éowyn and Legolas."

"Leggy!"

"Yes, Legolas."

"Leggy my friend," Elfwine reminded Gúthwyn, as if she had forgotten.

"I know, little one."

Their exchange was interrupted by the sounds of people hastily clearing the street. Stuck behind a crowd of guards, most of whom were a full foot taller than her, Gúthwyn was unable to determine whether the Eorlingas had made room because Éowyn had arrived that instant, or because they were simply preparing for her imminent appearance.

It soon became apparent that it was the former. Cries of "Lady Éowyn!" rose in the air; occasionally one would hear "Lord Faramir!", but for the most part the Eorlingas honored their own. Gúthwyn gave a grim smile at this, and brought Elfwine around the group of guards so that she could see what was happening.

Her sister, beautiful as ever, was at the front of a small contingent from Ithilien. Faramir was at her side; Gúthwyn did not, could not, look at him, and instead quickly surveyed their retinue. None of the Rangers assigned to accompany their lord and lady on this expedition were the ones who had been present at the skirmishes between Borogor's troops and Faramir's. The Steward, she knew, had done this on purpose.

Her gaze slid back to Éowyn. Little had changed about her sister, save that she seemed rather tired. Gúthwyn could hardly blame her—it was a long journey from Emyn Arnen to Edoras.

"That is Aunt Éowyn," she informed Elfwine, gesturing towards her sister. Distracted by her movements, Elfwine was more interested in licking her finger than paying attention to where it was pointed. Gúthwyn laughed and ruffled his air, amused rather than exasperated by his antics.

Éowyn, who had been surveying the crowd on the stairs, caught sight of her at that moment. Gúthwyn returned the enthusiastic wave and, after picking him up, prompted Elfwine to do the same. At first her sister's expression appeared less than happy, yet it brightened when she had given Éomund's youngest daughter a once-over and determined her appearance to be healthy.

Gúthwyn liked Éowyn's smile. It was pretty.

"Where Leggy?" Elfwine asked, already bored with the proceedings. "I want Leggy."

"I know you want Leggy," she muttered, her use of the nickname subconscious. "Patience, little one; patience is a virtue you must learn. He is not here yet."

_Nor will you be spending much time with him,_ she added silently. Regardless of how often she told herself she was foolish for clinging to the memories of Haldor, she simply did not feel comfortable exposing a child to someone who was his duplicate in almost every way. Haldor had used both Hammel and Haiweth in his designs against her—she would not let herself be led into the same trap again.

"Sister!"

The sound of Éowyn's voice startled her, and she glanced up to see that the White Lady had dismounted from her horse and was approaching her with Faramir. Because of Gúthwyn's lower status, courtesy dictated that Éowyn had to exchange greetings with Éomer first. Gúthwyn's distance from her brother had posed a conundrum for the oldest of Éomund's daughters.

As usual, she addressed the situation with more grace than Gúthwyn could have ever managed. "Why are you not next to Éomer?" she inquired as she drew nearer, without making it look as though she were giving preference to her youngest sibling.

"I will explain later," Gúthwyn muttered out of the corner of her mouth, causing Éowyn to raise her eyebrows quizzically. Determinedly ignoring Faramir, who was awkwardly observing the conversation, she continued, "May I help you unpack?"

Éowyn nodded. "Of course. Hello, Elfwine."

The toddler had been staring at her, thrown out of his comfort zone with a bevy of new faces. Gúthwyn could tell he was trying to determine whether Éowyn was a friend or foe; until then, he would remain withdrawn.

"Go on," she encouraged Éowyn, not wanting to give Lothíriel an excuse to look at her rival holding her son for longer than was absolutely necessary. "I shall give you a better welcome once we are inside." Indeed, with Elfwine in her arms, she would not be able to so much as embrace her sister.

"I am looking forward to it," Éowyn said, beginning the trek up the stairs. Faramir lingered, much to Gúthwyn's discomfort.

"My lady," he acknowledged her, his eyes meeting hers. He was unsure, Gúthwyn realized, of how she would treat him this time, now that she and his cousin had fallen out of each other's favor.

"My lord," she replied tonelessly, refusing to answer the silent question, and then looked away on the pretext of adjusting her hold on Elfwine. After she had spent far more time doing this than she needed to, she lifted her gaze and was pleased to note that he had caught up with Éowyn.

"Who that?" Elfwine interrogated her, confused about the interaction that had just transpired.

"That was your uncle Faramir, little one," Gúthwyn replied, watching Borogor's killer exchange pleasantries with her brother. Her stomach was knotting; six days from now, the sensation would be a thousand times worse.

Elfwine, meanwhile, was frowning. "No like Far'mir," he said dismissively. "Far'mir boring."

Unable to restrain herself, Gúthwyn kissed her nephew, but did not dare agree. She would not stoop to Lothíriel's level by whispering poison in Elfwine's ears. She would not tarnish Faramir's reputation, loathe and fear him though she did. Elfwine needed to make up his own mind about his uncle, and Gúthwyn was not one to intentionally influence his decision.

After Éowyn and Faramir had thanked Éomer for his hospitality, the crowds began to thin. Chores had been left undone, and there would be plenty of time to observe the reunited royal family later—the king was planning a great feast, and all had been invited to attend. Gúthwyn was relieved at this, for it would give her a reason to spend less time with Faramir and not appear rude.

Many of the people who were now departing had crowded behind Éowyn and Faramir, allowing Gúthwyn to see beyond them into an assuredly Elf-free street. She ordered herself not to feel relieved by this. _Legolas is your friend,_ she reminded herself, _and you have received far more of his kindness and assistance than you deserve._

"Gúthwyn?"

Not expecting to hear her name, Éomund's daughter jumped and whirled around, only to see that it was just Gamling. "Yes?" she questioned, unsteadily inhaling and exhaling. _Calm yourself!_ she mentally ordered.

"Are you all right?" was his response, his brow knitted.

"Yes, of course, I am fine," Gúthwyn hastily replied, kissing the top of Elfwine's head to prove that her behavior was perfectly normal. Elfwine giggled at this attention, and schemed for more by entwining his fists in her hair.

Obviously not believing her, Gamling nevertheless cleared his throat and said, "Éomer wishes for you—"

The rest of his words—not that Gúthwyn had any doubt as to what her brother wanted, for protocol dictated that she should be standing with him to welcome their guests—were drowned out by a roar from the Eorlingas who had not returned to their duties, as well as from those whose business required them to be out in the main road. The sudden upswing in noise level could mean but one thing: Legolas and the Elves had arrived.

Gúthwyn refused to let her face pale, her heart pound, or any part of her body be otherwise affected by the prince's imminent coming. If she was frightened, Elfwine would fuss, and she did not want her nephew to fight the same battle she did whenever Legolas was nearby.

Gradually, the son of Thranduil emerged into her view, followed closely by Raniean and Trelan. Despite their assurances to the contrary, Gúthwyn had a suspicion that they were his bodyguards, if not officially than at least by informal agreement. Raniean looked particularly fierce, staring at his surroundings in a way that made her think he was searching for threats.

The rest of the Elves were not long in coming. Legolas's company was about the same size as Éowyn and Faramir's—certainly not large enough to put a strain on Rohan's resources. Furthermore, they often went hunting and brought back meat for dinner, which helped alleviate some of the burdens of hospitality. The arrangement was handled tactfully, so one would never fall under the impression that Éomer had reason to appreciate it more than propriety decreed.

As the Elves dismounted from their horses, stableboys were on hand to take the animals to the stables. Gúthwyn saw Legolas stroke Arod's mane and whisper something in his ear before the stallion was led away. He then turned; she found herself looking directly into his eyes, the piercing blue she had so often seen above her, subduing her as she was pressed into the sheets.

_Stop it!_ she screamed at herself, and smiled at Legolas.

The gesture was forced, yet enough. Legolas returned it and drew closer, at which point Elfwine recognized him. Up until now he had been playing with Gúthwyn's hair, but at last aware of his aunt's distraction he had begun to search for what she could possibly be paying attention to instead of him.

"_Leggy!_" he shrieked ecstatically, writhing in Gúthwyn's arms. His voice was so loud that it carried not only to the Elf, but to everyone on the steps behind them, as Gúthwyn saw when she briefly turned and glimpsed Éomer's pale face. Mortified, she tried to restrain her nephew, yet when he accidentally slapped her wrist she lost her grip and had to lower him to the ground before he fell.

"Elfwine, no!" she cried as he bolted from her, running straight towards Legolas with all the intensity of a charging horse. For a moment, she could not move for terror; when at last she recovered the use of her feet, it was too late.

"_Leggy!_" Elfwine yelled again, launching himself at the other prince's legs. In front of the entire delegation from Ithilien and the royal family of Rohan, he wrapped his arms around Legolas's knees and buried his face in a slender thigh.

With the exception of Raniean, every single Elf in Legolas's entourage burst out laughing. Trelan could barely stand—his fingers were digging into Raniean's shoulders in an effort to remain upright. The guards in Edoras joined them, though most did not dare look at their king as they doubled over in mirth. Tun was nowhere to be found in their midst.

As the blood rushed to her face, Gúthwyn could also hear Éowyn and Faramir making light of the spectacle. Even Legolas had to chuckle when he beheld the toddler who had mauled him. Éomund's daughter heard him say something to Elfwine, which caused the child to gaze up and babble back. Legolas gently prized himself from the boy's loosened grip and crouched down so that their eyes were level.

Gúthwyn stepped forward, but then paused as Legolas withdrew a wooden object from the folds of his tunic. He held it out for Elfwine's inspection—was it Gúthwyn's imagination, or did he angle the item so that she, too, could see it perfectly? Her breath caught in her throat, and Elfwine gave a delighted squeal, when they saw that it was a carving of a horse.

"For you, Elfwine," she heard Legolas saying, offering it to the child.

"Mine?" Elfwine asked gleefully.

"Yours," Legolas confirmed.

It was settled. As the laughter started dying down, Elfwine happily accepted the toy, prompting Gúthwyn to approach her nephew.

"I am so sorry," she apologized to Legolas, her cheeks bright red with embarrassment. "Elfwine—"

"Gúthy, look! Leggy give me horse!" the toddler in question exclaimed, raising it up towards her.

"Might I ask where he got the name 'Leggy'?" Legolas inquired as Gúthwyn surreptitiously checked the toy for any unusual markings.

"Yes, my lady, pray tell," Trelan said as he joined them. Nervously, Gúthwyn picked Elfwine up, holding the toddler close to her. Elfwine did not seem to mind; he was too engrossed by his new toy to regard his caretaker.

Unaware of her reaction, or too courteous to mention it, Trelan continued, "I would like to personally congratulate whomever invented it, as it is most flattering. In fact, Leggy, I _may_ have to request permission to address you as—"

"—In which case I _will_ have to recommend you to be a member of my father's morning council," Legolas interrupted, sending his friend a withering glare.

Trelan's expression was that of mock horror. "You would not dare!"

"Long, excruciating hours…" Legolas intoned, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, "Reams of paper in tiny, cramped handwriting… The opportunity to spend day after day being upbraided by the King of Eryn Lasgalen… Did I mention that your presence would be required just before the break of dawn?"

Trelan began to reply, but he was cut off by a sullen voice speaking in rapid Sindarin.

"Ran-in!" Elfwine screeched, waving energetically at the Elf who had appeared, as if out of thin air, at Legolas's side. "Gúthy, look! Ran-in!"

Starting to feel overwhelmed by the presence of so many Elves, Gúthwyn sought to find an escape. Turning towards her brother, she was relieved to see that he was still there—it was a foolish fear, that he had left, but one of her own all the same—waiting for her to take the remaining guests to the Golden Hall. It had fallen upon her, as the king's sister, to act as the hostess until they reached the landing.

Swallowing, Gúthwyn ignored Raniean's sudden iciness and inquired of Legolas, "Shall I bring you to my brother?"

"Yes, please," Legolas agreed, nodding. "I do not wish to seem ungrateful for his generosity in welcoming us to his home."

Speaking of generosity… "Elfwine," Gúthwyn said then, looking down at her nephew. He blew a spit bubble in response. "Legolas just gave you a toy, little one. What do you say?"

Elfwine's eyes lit up. "Peas!" he shouted happily.

Gúthwyn shook her head, causing Elfwine's features to wilt in disappointment. "What do you say when someone gives you something, little one?"

"That is not necessary," Legolas murmured as Elfwine visibly struggled to find the answer. "I made the horse in my spare time, it was not an imposition."

"Dank you?" Elfwine offered before Gúthwyn could reply.

A soft smile came to Legolas's face. "You are most welcome, Elfwine," he said.

The formalities done, Gúthwyn stepped towards Meduseld. Legolas nodded at Raniean and Trelan; they and the other Elves followed her, the knowledge of which made her back tense and her movements stiff. As Haldor flitted in and out of the shadows of her mind, the child in her arms proved to be a more adept host than she.

"Leggy, I has four uncles!" he announced as they mounted the stairs. "Gúthy tells me I do. You has four?"

"Unfortunately, I have none," Legolas replied, grinning at Elfwine's candor.

One of the Elves behind Legolas frowned. Gúthwyn assumed it was because his prince had dared to converse with a mortal, and bristled. She noticed that the offender carried himself more austerely than the others, Legolas included, and wore a ring in which a dark stone had been set.

_He and Raniean must be close friends,_ she thought waspishly.

Reminding herself that she should not be thinking this way, considering all the times she had snubbed Legolas on account of his race, Gúthwyn took a deep breath to calm her racing pulse and finished ascending the stairs. Lothíriel acknowledged her appearance with a cool look, behind which even colder anger lurked.

Éomer's greeting was somewhat warmer, though not by much. "Sister, please tell me you did not encourage my son to address Prince Legolas by something other than his title."

Gúthwyn decided it would not be wise to mention Tun, who had just earned Éomer's approval three years ago—and only because she had rejected his marriage proposal. If Elfwine did not point to her champion, she would not.

"I did no such thing," she protested as Éowyn and Faramir laughed heartily.

"I do not mind," Legolas said swiftly. "I thought it amusing."

Éomer sighed. "I have a household of rascals," he lamented, reaching over to tousle both Gúthwyn and Elfwine's hair. "The two of them are all but inseparable."

"Éomer!" Gúthwyn hissed, mortified.

In an effort to rescue her sister from embarrassment, Éowyn asked cheerfully, "Shall we go inside?"

All parties consented to this, and within minutes all had filed into the Golden Hall for lunch.

* * *

><p><strong>To the anonymous reviewer PrincessDrake:<strong> No, I am not anorexic, and no, I do not write this story whenever I skip meals. I am sorry that Gúthwyn's food problems irritate you, but the reality is that the after-effects of her time in Mordor are not going to be resolved within a couple of chapters. Long ago I decided not to write one of those Mary Sue stories where the victim of sexual abuse recovers almost instantaneously so that the author can get to her romance with Aragorn/Boromir/Legolas; I feel it is unrealistic and a disgrace to real survivors. However, you will be glad to note that I anticipate food issues only being mentioned in passing throughout the upcoming chapters, for the story is heading towards a conflict that will put Gúthwyn's post-traumatic stress disorder on the backburner. You are right - I do have the tendency to repeat scenes, and that is something I am working on as an author.

As for the word count... I honestly do not pay attention to it at all. I am not trying to reach a million words before the story ends, although I suppose that would be interesting. The only thing I keep track of in terms of length is the page count on Microsoft Word, but I can assure you that I am not trying to reach a certain amount of pages.

Again, I am sorry that you feel like parts of this story are dragging. To some extent, you are right: I do need to work on cutting to the chase more quickly. On the other hand, recovery from sexual abuse is not something that can be taken lightly, and I have been striving to make this story as realistic as possible. I hope that you find the upcoming chapters more to your liking, as I just checked the ten I have already written and there are no mentions of Gúthwyn running off to vomit in a dark corner. (Nor do I plan on writing any in the near future.)

Thank you for reading and reviewing.


	3. An Undercurrent of Jealousy

**Chapter Three**

"So, brother, how fare things in the Mark?" inquired Éowyn several minutes into their lunch. The usual pleasantries had been exchanged while the royal family and their guests were satisfying their hunger; now that the food had been praised, and all were eating at a steadier rate, the White Lady found opportunity to venture into deeper topics.

From the head of the table, Éomer answered with a brief description of the realm's affairs. Lothíriel was at his side, listening attentively but ever so often glancing at Gúthwyn in distaste, as if her rival were a blight in the hall. For once, Éomund's daughter was glad that Legolas had been seated next to her—his higher ranking meant that he was between her and the queen.

To Éomer's right were Éowyn and Faramir, the latter unfortunately directly across from Gúthwyn. Surprisingly, Hammel and Haiweth had been given places of honor, next to the Steward and the king's sister respectively—Gúthwyn suspected that Éomer had requested Lothíriel to include them in her intricate arrangements. Cobryn's comforting presence was nowhere to be found, for he had elected not to intrude upon the meal and, though pressed by both Éomer and Gúthwyn to join, had locked himself away somewhere with a pile of papers that needed to be read through. Meanwhile, the other Rangers and Elves were situated in a way that would allow them to mingle if they wished, but also to enjoy the presence of their comrades.

As Gúthwyn examined her surroundings, Éomer wrapped up his account with a mention of the past spring. "We have been lucky," he said: "the weather was better than we had hoped for."

"Aye," Éowyn agreed. Later, she would press him for more details concerning the harvesting and sowing seasons, but mindful that there were others present who would find such a subject considerably less engaging, she instead pursued Éomer's remarks about the weather. "We were also favored, though our seasons are usually warmer to begin with. Sister, you would like Emyn Arnen's climate."

"I-I would?" Gúthwyn asked, flustered when the others' gazes turned towards her.

"Yes, you always seem so cold," Éowyn said with a small laugh. In it, however, Gúthwyn could hear a faintly accusatory question: _in the five years I have been married, why have you not visited?_

She conceded to her sister with a nod, but said only, "Luckily, it is summer now."

Was it her imagination, or did Éowyn look slightly hurt? If so, her response was not tainted by resentment. "Soon to be your and Elfwine's birthdays."

Until now quietly enjoying his meal from the comfort of Gúthwyn's lap—Legolas's toy horse safely clutched in his left hand—Elfwine brightened at the sound of his name. "Mine?" he questioned eagerly.

"Yours," Éowyn confirmed, chuckling when she saw that her nephew's mouth was smeared with mashed potatoes. "Brother, what shall we do to celebrate?"

Gúthwyn shot a quick glance at Éomer, not without some trepidation. A few days ago, he had hinted in conversation that he was planning something for the event, but given the string of miserable birthdays she had had since she was twelve, she could only imagine what her brother had up his sleeve.

Éomer now cleared his throat, looking as if he had been anticipating this moment for awhile. "I had in mind an outing," he began, smiling at Gúthwyn and Elfwine. The former's cheeks turned red when she noticed Legolas's eyes on her, but she could not protest that such attention was unnecessary because it was her nephew's birthday, as well.

Unaware of Gúthwyn's discomfort, Éomer continued. "I propose we take a company to the River Snowbourn and pass the day there. The water will be warm, and we shall have the opportunity for a long overdue riding excursion."

Gúthwyn was pleasantly surprised. "That sounds wonderful," she replied emphatically. The last time she had gone to the Snowbourn, Elfwine had been but a few days old and had not made the journey with them. This would be his first sight of the river.

"We can discuss the particulars later," Éomer said then, "yet all of our guests are welcome." He nodded at Legolas.

Gúthwyn ordered herself not to be affected by this.

"Gúthy?"

Swallowing, she looked down at her nephew. "Yes, little one?"

"More 'tatoes, peas?"

Kissing him as a reward for his good manners, Gúthwyn complied and put more potatoes on her plate. Elfwine pulled the dish towards him and stuck his fingers into it. Since Lothíriel had already overseen him using a fork that day, Gúthwyn decided to let him be and enjoy his hands while they were still acceptable eating utensils.

"Now, sister," Éowyn said, watching as Elfwine licked his fingers in rapturous delight, "do you still frequent the training grounds?"

Gúthwyn's head inclined in response, but her heart clenched when she saw that Faramir had taken Éowyn's hand underneath the table. "I-I was able to return there in March," she responded quietly. "My wrists are not as strong as they once were, but I have been able to recover most of my ability."

"Not to the detriment of your bones, I pray," Éowyn said severely. She exchanged a meaningful glance with Éomer; both siblings knew all too well how inclined their younger sister was to sacrifice her health for the sake of appearance.

"Of course not," Gúthwyn protested innocently, though she had, in fact, occasionally pushed herself to train when her wrists were begging for respite. Luckily, however, only Legolas seemed to detect her dishonesty, and the quick, disbelieving look he shot at her was easy to ignore.

"Gúthy?"

"What is it, little one?" Gúthwyn inquired, bestowing all her attention upon her nephew so that she would not have to meet her sister's eyes.

"I want bread, peas."

Laughing, unaware that Lothíriel's cold gaze was fixated upon her, Gúthwyn took a slice from the basket in the center of the table and added it to her plate. As she did so, she realized that Elfwine was eating more than her. Was she not hungry? She attempted to subdue her mind and focus on her body's response, but she still had difficulties discerning whether or not she actually needed food.

_Perhaps I should have something else_, she thought, glancing tentatively around at the wide array of dishes that had been prepared. Most of them involved meat, which she could not have; a few she might have been interested in were close to Faramir, and she would certainly not request him to pass them over. Finally, she settled on more bread, because she had spent far too much time dwelling on the matter and she did not want Éomer to notice.

When she next looked up, her sister was chatting animatedly with Haiweth. A frequent visitor to Minas Tirith, Éowyn found her knowledge of the White City put to more use than it likely ever had been as Haiweth relentlessly pressed her for information. Most of her questions revolved around Gondorian high society and fashion; Gúthwyn watched her child babble on with a pained expression, recalling her conversation with Cobryn about service to Queen Arwen. Angrily thinking to herself that even though Haiweth was interested in Gondorians, she would not want to live there, Gúthwyn turned her attentions back to Elfwine. He, at least, was not old enough for others to contemplate him being separated from her—save Lothíriel, of course.

But her ears rang mercilessly with Haiweth's voice, and short of clamping her hands over them Gúthwyn could not stop listening.

"Are there many balls?" Haiweth inquired, leaning forward in attentiveness.

Éowyn shook her head. "Aragorn has too many concerns to host more than one a month—not to mention, he himself is not particularly fond of them."

Haiweth's face fell, but Gúthwyn grinned to herself at the reminder that King Elessar was still the man she had known during the War, crowned royalty though he now was.

"However," Éowyn continued, smilingly knowingly at Gúthwyn, "he and some of the nobility take it in turn to host dinners, where anything from serious discourse to gambling might occur. The companies are rotated frequently, so while they are small they are no less enjoyable for it."

Haiweth nodded, absorbing it all like the driest patch of earth suddenly deluged by a rainstorm. "Are the ladies in Minas Tirith like the ones in Dol Amroth?"

Faramir fielded the question: Éowyn had never been to Dol Amroth, nor encountered the likes of Lady Míriel. Amongst the two of them Faramir knew best how to respond, but before he did so he glanced at Lothíriel, leading Gúthwyn to suspect that he was choosing his next words very carefully. "The women of Minas Tirith are more conservative in appearance than those in Dol Amroth. During the War, they often went without finery such as silks and jewels, and have since grown accustomed to the style. If it is clothing that interests you, Haiweth, you would be much better off studying the Dol Amroth nobility."

Lothíriel nodded approvingly, although when no one was looking Gúthwyn grimaced at the top of Elfwine's head. "It does not hurt," the queen pointed out, more to Faramir than to Haiweth—whom she often regarded disdainfully, much to Gúthwyn's fury—"having unparalleled access to silks and fabrics." With its many harbors and wealthy inhabitants, Dol Amroth was a beacon for merchants and vendors. As a result, most of Prince Imrahil's revenue was generated from taxes upon these sellers, and meanwhile his people could pride themselves on having the best of every commodity.

Faramir agreed to this, and the conversation descended into a discussion about trade between Gondor and various other realms. Haiweth was able to avoid the economics by asking Éowyn more about Gondorian fashion, but Gúthwyn had no such escape and soon thought she would fall asleep out of boredom. This topic was far more suited for Cobryn than her. Important though commerce was, she could not find it remotely interesting.

Luckily, after finishing his bread Elfwine decided that he, too, was tired of the current subject. Before Éomund's daughter was aware of what he was doing, he leaned over and exclaimed, "Leggy!"

"Elfwine, _hush,_" Gúthwyn whispered, mortified; but her rebuke came too late. Legolas slipped out of the trade talk—appearing rather relieved to do so—and turned to greet the toddler next to him.

"Hello, Elfwine," he said quietly, not wishing to disturb the others.

"Leggy gives me horse!" Elfwine reminded Gúthwyn, waving the toy in the air and nearly hitting her with it. "Dank you, Leggy!"

Legolas chuckled at the child's enthusiasm. It was not Haldor's cold, chilling laugh, but rather something Gúthwyn thought she might grow accustomed to. "You are most welcome, Elfwine," he said for the second time that day.

Beaming, Elfwine replied, "I makes horse fight!" He punctuated this remark with an excited shriek; the toy zoomed through the air and landed next to Éowyn's plate.

"Son!" Éomer barked, appalled by the display in front of his guests. Had they just been with family, he likely would have found the incident amusing—but now his offspring's manners were reflections upon his own conduct.

Elfwine merely laughed at him, clapping his hands in delight when Éowyn returned the horse. Gúthwyn and Legolas looked at each other and bit back smiles; the sight of the king of Rohan cringing at his son's antics was more entertaining than either of them cared to admit.

"Gúthwyn," Lothíriel said, very quietly and very politely, a sure indicator of how furious she was, "please restrain Elfwine from throwing things at our guests. He seems to have forgotten his manners."

Éomer did not realize that his wife's irritation was directed more towards his sister than his son, but Éowyn shot Lothíriel a quick look in which Gúthwyn read something of a challenge. The queen did not return the gaze, though Éomund's daughter doubted very much that she was unaware of it.

"Of course," she told the queen, the epitome of docility and obedience. But in a small act of defiance she tucked her head close to Elfwine's and whispered so that his mother could not hear, "Good boy, little one!"

Elfwine's face lit up, and he gleefully yanked at her hair. "Gúthy mine," he told Legolas an instant later, his manner abruptly switching to churlishness. "Not yours."

Gúthwyn's shoulders tensed at the very idea of being an Elf's possession. She had born that title long ago—the mere contemplation of it now brought a chill over her. Suddenly she had the urge to tell her nephew that she belonged to no one, not even to him.

"Can share," Elfwine decided generously.

"Did you ask your aunt how she feels about this?" Legolas inquired, looking at Gúthwyn rather than Elfwine. He knew, she realized, that the child's words had struck an unpleasant chord deep within her. Were her emotions that ill-guarded?

"I shares Gúthy," Elfwine explained, thinking that Legolas had not understood. "I love Gúthy."

As Gúthwyn's heart promptly set about melting, washing away the darkness that had claimed it so recently, Éowyn happened to overhear and with a similar expression on her face exclaimed, "Éomer, he is adorable!"

"'Dorable," Elfwine parroted, beaming.

"He is quite fond of Gúthwyn," Éomer remarked, chuckling at his son. "Not a day goes by where he does not demand that I bring him to her."

"Well, we all know that Gúthwyn has a remarkable gift with children," Éowyn said, smiling. Gúthwyn thought there was a strange wistfulness in her sister's features that she could not understand. Was Éowyn upset that Elfwine had not begged to sit with her during lunch? Éomund's daughter immediately resolved to have her nephew spend more time with his aunt—once he was familiar with her, surely the matter would be fixed.

Meanwhile, Éowyn was not the only one who appeared less than happy about Elfwine's devotion to Gúthwyn. Lothíriel, though composed as ever, was digging her fork into her meal with particular vehemence. Gúthwyn eyed her warily, wondering if there was something she could do to appease the queen. She was not intentionally trying to consume all of Elfwine's free time; perhaps she should have been making more of an effort to include her brother's wife in their games?

"Brother," Éowyn continued as Gúthwyn mulled these ideas over, her voice jovial despite her subdued manner, "if you are not careful, you will soon find that your son loves Gúthwyn more than he does you!"

Lothíriel positively stabbed her venison, though only Éomund's daughter noticed. Éomer was probably the most oblivious to his wife's mood of them all; his booming laughter resonated across the table, clearly not offended by the prediction in the least. "I think he already does!" he exclaimed, looking fondly at Gúthwyn. "Small wonder, when Lothíriel and I are at so many meetings and it is our baby sister who entertains him!"

"My Gúthy," Elfwine affirmed, eager to join the conversation. "Papa, I shares Gúthy now!"

Éomer chuckled. "With whom?" he asked, winking at Gúthwyn.

"Leggy!" Elfwine cried ecstatically.

There was a bout of laughter at this, though perhaps it would have been louder had Lothíriel not been resolutely furious that her son was paying more attention to his aunt than her. Gúthwyn swallowed, yet she could not help but smile when Elfwine looked up at her in search of her approval. After all, he knew nothing about what she had suffered in Mordor—she hoped that he had not even heard of the Black Land.

Legolas alone seemed to sense her discomfort, though he knew far less than Éowyn or Éomer about what she had endured. With astonishing patience, he drew Elfwine into a lively conversation, one that challenged both of their linguistic capabilities but did not hamper either's enjoyment. The subject changed remarkably fast: Legolas allowed the child to dictate what they were to speak about, the result being that he had to work swiftly to follow a wandering mind.

Gúthwyn listened closely, ever so often shooting Legolas a grateful look. She was pleased to hear nothing more sinister being said than Elfwine's proclamation of loving battle; Legolas then entertained him with a story about the first time he had ever fought in a skirmish. Elfwine squealed at the description of the enormous spiders that had attacked his father's camp in the middle of a hunt, and then clapped his hands in praise when he learned that Legolas had killed two with his knives.

"Are there still spiders in Eryn Lasgalen?" Gúthwyn wanted to know when Legolas finished, making a mental note to never venture into any forest alone. Luckily, she no longer journeyed outside the borders of Rohan. Between Fangorn and tales of the Elf's homeland, she privately felt she would sooner visit Emyn Arnen than risk being ambushed by gargantuan wildlife.

"Ever so often we will find one," Legolas admitted. "But their numbers are few since the Shadow was overthrown, and they are easily overcome."

"Spider," Elfwine giggled, pleased with himself for pronouncing the word correctly. "Want spider. Gúthy, give me spider, peas."

"Nay, my friend, you would be most unfortunate indeed to encounter one," Legolas assured him. "They eat any living creature they can catch," he cautioned seriously, though the corners of his mouth were twitching with amusement, "including humans."

Elfwine, not yet old enough to realize that he was part of the human race, laughed at the other prince and told Gúthwyn, "Leggy funny!"

"Do those spiders really eat people?" Gúthwyn asked Legolas in an undertone, not nearly as unconcerned about his warning as her nephew. When Frodo told her in Minas Tirith of his harrowing journey through the Cirith Ungol, a treacherous pass through the Ephel Dúath upon the borders of Mordor, he had described a monstrous spider named Shelob that attempted to eat him and was deterred only by Sam's courage. She had hoped that Shelob was the one such specimen who had a fondness for human flesh, and felt a shudder at the thought of this assumption being corrected.

Much to her disgust, Legolas nodded. "The Elves are aware of this danger, and are therefore able to avoid getting trapped, but travelers are often not so lucky. Did Frodo ever speak to you of his uncle Bilbo?"

"Yes, I saw them together in Rivendell," Gúthwyn replied. "And now that I think of it, I do recall a mention of Bilbo traveling through Mirkwood—forgive me, Eryn Lasgalen—but the reasoning seemed rather complicated, and I did not fully understand why, for I had overheard him in the middle of his tale."

"Gandalf coerced him into traveling with a group of Dwarves, including Gimli's father, in an effort to recover stolen treasure," Legolas explained, chuckling at her even more bewildered expression. She leaned closer to him, unsure of whether she was hearing him correctly: Éomer and Éowyn were carrying on an animated conversation about what they were to do over the visit, and between them and Elfwine's babbling it was difficult to listen properly. "It is a long story, and later if you wish I shall relate it to you in full, but in the meantime it is sufficient to say that Bilbo and his companions were unaware of the peril surrounding them if they strayed from their course."

"They were all caught by spiders?" Gúthwyn guessed, her eyes widening. Elfwine yanked at her hair and she hardly noticed.

"Indeed, they were ensnared so thoroughly that they were only saved by Bilbo, who had with him what he would shortly afterwards name Sting."

"That was the blade Frodo carried," Gúthwyn murmured. Most of the Hobbits' weaponry she had examined particularly closely, in the event that she suddenly found them between her and the Ring. She had been astonished and fearful to note the Elvish quality of Sting, and even more alarmed to discover that it glowed in the presence of the Enemy. For some reason, however, Sting had never done so around her, though she was a direct threat to its master.

"It was given to him right before the Quest," Legolas informed her. "Bilbo knew he had no more use for it."

Gúthwyn sighed. "I wish I had spent less time trying to steal the Ring," she murmured, her voice low so as not to attract the attention of Faramir, who remained unaware of her bargain with the Enemy, "and more time conversing with the Hobbits. Of them I learned very little, a grievance I shall never be able to repair."

"Sister, what discussion has you and Legolas so absorbed?" Éomer questioned, his voice rising over the others' chatter.

Gúthwyn jumped, startling Elfwine and causing him to fuss. She had not realized that her head was so close to Legolas's; it was undoubtedly this that had prompted her brother to inquire. Her cheeks were tinted pink as she answered, "Hobbits—I-I was telling Legolas that I wish I had spoken more with them, Merry and Pippin especially."

"Meriadoc is still a squire of the Mark," Éomer mused thoughtfully. "I have not had need of his services yet, but it has been far too long since we have exchanged tidings. At the very least, I should write to him and learn how he is faring in the Shire. I must remind him that he may visit whenever he wishes."

"What do you think, little one?" Gúthwyn asked Elfwine, smiling as she bounced him lightly on her lap. "Would you like to meet a Hobbit?"

"Hobbit?" Elfwine echoed, puzzling over the word. "Gúthy, what Hobbit?"

"A Hobbit is a creature," Gúthwyn began, ruffling his hair, "that looks very similar to a human, but is far shorter. They have hair on their feet, and like to eat several meals a day."

Elfwine mulled this over. "Hobbit eat," he decided, and without further ado reached for the mashed potatoes. "Peas, Gúthy?"

Gúthwyn obliged him and put some more potatoes on her plate, though less than before because she knew his eyes were bigger than his stomach. She happened to look at Lothíriel while she was doing this; the queen was pure venom, her hatred so icy that Gúthwyn imagined the temperature in the Golden Hall had dropped severely. Glancing around the table, she saw that no one else was aware of this. Why was she so attuned to Lothíriel's emotions? Or was she simply paranoid?

Although she attempted to convince herself that she was imagining things, as the meal progressed she could have sworn that the queen's glower deepened, especially when Elfwine drew Gúthwyn and Legolas into another dialogue concerning Hobbits. Her brother's wife had little knowledge of this subject, and found herself excluded even when the others joined in. Gúthwyn became increasingly uncomfortable. Despite Lothíriel's behavior towards her, she wished she could find a way to include her, but did not know how to do so without arousing suspicion.

At the end of the lunch, her brother's wife pushed her chair away and apologized to her guests for being so rude, but there were a number of tasks she needed to oversee her maids carrying out. Gúthwyn watched her go, but her uneasy reflections were interrupted by Elfwine clamoring for her to pick him up. He did not appear to have noticed his mother's departure.

"Oh, Elfwine," she whispered, hoisting him up in the air, "you and I need to start inviting Lothíriel to join us. I think she wants to play with you."

"Mama too busy," Elfwine said flatly, and that was the end of that.


	4. Green With Envy

**Chapter Four**

"Will you help me unpack?" Éowyn asked Gúthwyn as the guests began to filter away. Éomer and Faramir were now discussing the politics of Emyn Arnen, something that Éomund's oldest daughter felt more than well-informed of—having conducted the majority of them with her husband—and therefore she could devote her attention to other things. "We have much catching up to do."

"Of course," Gúthwyn agreed, her accompanying smile dazzling. Éowyn could not help but grin in return: Gúthwyn's enthusiasm was contagious.

"Me help?" Elfwine pleaded, clinging to Gúthwyn's neck.

Éowyn's heart twisted at the sight of her nephew, but when Gúthwyn looked hopefully up at her she could not refuse so small a request. "Of course, Elfwine," she agreed, injecting a cheery tone into her voice. "As long as your father knows where you are."

"I will tell Éomer," Gúthwyn promised, and without waiting for a response she hastened towards their brother. Éowyn watched as she informed him of their destination and then came back, her cheeks glowing. "He does not mind," she reported happily. "Come, let us go!"

Éowyn raised an eyebrow, though chose not to comment. She was somewhat surprised—Gúthwyn had appeared rather subdued throughout the meal, and she had spent more time entertaining her nephew than her guests. Now she was in high spirits, eager to be in her sibling's company and far more energetic than she had been a few minutes ago.

Éowyn could not help but wonder if the presence of Faramir had been a factor in Gúthwyn's earlier withdrawal. Though she had long ago made a promise to herself that she would not probe the matter of the grievance that seemed to lay between them unless their relationship declined, it was a mystery that ever lingered in the corners of her mind, burning brightly whenever her husband and her sister were in the same room.

"I am glad you are home," Gúthwyn said then, drawing Éowyn out of her musings. "I missed you so much!"

She opened the door to Éowyn's old chambers as she spoke, beaming.

"Come, now," Éowyn replied, chuckling. "You are always welcome to visit Ithilien. I wish you would."

The grin on Gúthwyn's face faltered just for an instant, but long enough for Éowyn to notice and be irritated by it. _You could not make _one_ effort in five years to visit your sister?_ she asked Éomund's youngest daughter silently. She knew Gúthwyn was attached to Rohan in a way that she doubted even Éomer was, but it was not as if the woman had a kingdom to run.

"I hope we cleaned it well enough," Gúthwyn said after a short pause, stepping into the room. "I was not able to help as much as I would have liked, but—"

"You do not need to assist the maids," Éowyn told her, inwardly marveling at her sister's utter inability to abide by the restrictions of her status. In a way, she envied Gúthwyn's obliviousness in this regard: it must have been wonderful to breeze through life without paying heed to propriety, to do what no other woman of her class would do and _clean_ simply because she felt like it.

Until she married Faramir, Éowyn had prided herself on being self-sufficient. She had never been dainty; she had always scoffed at the notion of relying on servants to carry out her every whim. Long ago, she, too, would not have given a second thought before joining the scrubbing efforts at Meduseld. The maids in Emyn Arnen, however, evidently held a much more exclusive view of their positions than did those in Edoras, and had not permitted her to so much as air out a single bed sheet. And in a sense, they were right—Éowyn knew all too well the mutterings that followed a woman of her rank who did her own chores in Gondor.

Even so, while she herself had eventually relented and learned to pass the burden of various tasks onto her maids, she doubted that Gúthwyn would ever change. Right now her sister was shrugging, seemingly bewildered as to why anyone would suggest such a thing. "I wanted to help," she said.

At that moment, Elfwine began squirming in her arms. "Gúthy, _down_!" he demanded. "Peas?"

Laughing, Gúthwyn lowered him to the floor. He bolted from her and promptly ran into the nearest wall. Surprised, he fell to the ground and stared at the obstacle in bemusement.

"Oh, little one," Gúthwyn murmured, scurrying over and planting a kiss on the top of his head. Éowyn saw her check it swiftly for bumps, running her fingers through the child's soft hair in a silent assessment. Elfwine patiently endured her inspection and then crawled away, peering at various objects in the room with more interest than they likely deserved.

A raw surge of jealousy sliced through Éowyn's heart, one that she desperately tried to ignore. She should have been happy that Lothíriel had borne such an adorable child, not resentful.

"Sister, will you put away my gowns?" she inquired, hoping she sounded casual enough. Like Éomer, Gúthwyn was rather unobservant at times; it did not take much effort.

"Of course," the other woman agreed happily. She bent over, opened one of the chests, and began unloading its contents on top of the bed. Éowyn saw Elfwine's eyes suspiciously following her every movement, ensuring that his aunt remained firmly in sight. "How are you and Far—"

"How have you been, sister?" Éowyn interrupted, not in the mood to discuss her marital life. "You did not speak much at dinner."

Gúthwyn blinked at the abrupt tone in which she was addressed, but quickly recovered and replied, "I am well, thank you. Even more so, now that you are here." She grinned.

"And your wrists?" Éowyn pressed, looking critically at them. They still seemed rather misshapen. "You should have let them heal longer before going to the training grounds!"

"They are fine," Gúthwyn said quickly. "Really, Éowyn, they do not hurt anymore. They are weaker than I would like them to be, but they do not get in the way of anything."

Her voice was sincere, but Éowyn doubted every word that came from her baby sister's mouth. "Gúthwyn," she said sternly, "you have a habit of concealing your injuries. I pray this is not one of those times."

"It is not," Gúthwyn protested immediately. "I am able to train regularly without difficulty." As if to prove that her bones were strong, she draped the heaviest of Éowyn's gowns over her arms and marched with them to the wardrobe, where she proceeded to twist the knob open so forcefully that Éowyn doubted her own wrists could have withstood the assault.

"'Wyn!"

The alarmed shout came from Elfwine. Both of Éomund's daughters turned to look at him; he crawled rapidly to the foot of the bed and used the post to pull himself to a standing position, though he was not yet tall enough to gaze over it. "'Wyn, where Gúthy go?" he demanded anxiously, his bottom lip trembling.

Éowyn realized that he could not see Gúthwyn from where he was located—the mattress was blocking his view. Before the White Lady could assure him that all was well, her sister abandoned the clothes, flopped onto the bed, and poked her head over the side. "Little one, I am right here!" she announced, sticking her tongue out at him.

Elfwine burst into giggles, his temporary distress forgotten in favor of his silly aunt. He grabbed at her hair and squealed in delight when she tickled his throat; the two of them then grinned at each other, lost in a moment that Éowyn was not part of. She did not mind—it was enough to see Gúthwyn so happy, when less than two years ago she had been a ghost.

Éowyn used her sister's distraction as an opportunity to surreptitiously examine her. It was obvious that, while still too slender, she had gained weight. Her collarbone remained so prominent that it cast shadows over the skin below, but her clothes no longer sagged from her limbs and Éowyn knew that she had eaten half a plateful of food during lunch. To top it off, she was positively glowing. The expression on her face as she beheld Elfwine was like that of a new mother—as if the toddler she was now scooping into her arms were her own, and not her brother's.

Silently cursing her mind for always bringing her back to parenthood, Éowyn looked away and unpacked the rest of her husband's clothes. She carried out her work in silence, a stark contrast to Gúthwyn and Elfwine's play. The former had apparently forgotten her purpose in coming here, and had hoisted the latter up on top of the bed so that their antics might continue on even ground.

"Is he not adorable?" Gúthwyn asked in an undertone while their nephew was busy poking a pillow. She reclined against the headboard, watching Elfwine from the corner of her eye to make sure that he did not fall.

Éowyn forced a smile to her face. "Yes, he is," she agreed. "Éomer is very lucky." _And I, not so much,_ she thought darkly.

Gúthwyn frowned, and too late Éowyn realized that she had not provided as much enthusiasm as was expected. "Is something wrong?" the younger woman questioned tentatively, propping herself up on her elbows.

"Not at all," Éowyn lied, laughing reassuringly. "Why would you ask?"

Gúthwyn bit her lip. "You seem upset," she said. "A-Are you angry with Éomer?"

"Of course not!" Éowyn exclaimed. "I am fine."

Uneasily placated, Gúthwyn studied her for a moment and then lay back down. "I wish you still lived here," she murmured quietly.

"Why?" Éowyn inquired, lowering herself onto the bed. Still sitting, she scrutinized Gúthwyn's features, wondering if there was something her baby sister was not telling her.

There was a shrug. "I miss you," Gúthwyn said simply, but there was more to it than that. She was mulling something over, debating whether or not to confide in Éowyn. "It is not enough to receive months-old letters."

_Something which could be easily rectified, if you would only come and visit,_ Éowyn thought pointedly, yet she sensed that it was not the time to mention such a grievance. Instead, she responded, "Aye, words on parchment are not the same as a conversation."

While they spoke, Elfwine grew tired of the pillow. He crawled in between them and settled himself next to Gúthwyn, wrapping strands of her hair around his fingers. Éomund's youngest daughter visibly relaxed. She was only at peace, Éowyn realized, with a child utterly dependent on her. Elfwine was to her what neither of her siblings could be, what even Hammel and Haiweth were not: a reason to live. They could survive without her, and indeed had already done so; he, on the other hand, would not.

The idea unsettled Éowyn, and she immediately banished it from her mind. Not once did Gúthwyn notice her sister's attention wandering.

"I wish you had been here during the Dol Amroth visit," the woman sighed wistfully, her brow knitted in thought. Her next words rang painfully in the air. "I… I needed you."

"Needed me?" Éowyn echoed, instantly alert. "Gúthwyn, what happened?" She recalled a letter she had received shortly after Imrahil had left Rohan: in incredibly vague, nondescript terms, her sister had mentioned Prince Amrothos being involved in the story of her broken wrists. Faramir had taken one look at that paragraph and voiced a grim opinion that his cousin had been responsible for more than Gúthwyn was willing to admit, but though he had sent an envoy to Amrothos requesting the truth of the matter there had been no reply.

If the situation were as Faramir had guessed, however, Gúthwyn did not confess. "I had no one to talk to," she instead admitted; "only Legolas, and he likely pitied me. Éomer would not let me see Elfwine, Elphir would have nothing to do with me, Erchirion ignored me, and the rest of Imrahil's subjects hated me because I did not adhere to their standards of decorum."

"What about Amrothos?" Éowyn pressed, giving Éomund's youngest daughter a keen look.

Gúthwyn stiffened. The action lasted only a few seconds—and in those few seconds Éowyn saw nothing but fear in her baby sister's eyes. "What about him?" she asked guardedly.

Éowyn adjusted her position on the bed so that she was more comfortable: she had been meaning to interrogate Gúthwyn about this for months. "One of your letters gave me the impression that he was becoming a frequent companion," she began, purposely not starting with a mention of Gúthwyn's wrists. She did not want the woman to become defensive. "What was he like?"

For a time, Gúthwyn was silent. Then: "He drank too much." Her arm curled around Elfwine, drawing the child towards her. He did not protest, and even twisted to plant a wet kiss on her forehead.

"I pray he restrained himself around you," Éowyn said tightly, her eyes narrowing.

Giggling, Elfwine crawled on top of Gúthwyn, swatting at her face and blocking it from Éowyn's view.

"You silly boy," Gúthwyn laughed, catching his hands. "What are you doing?"

Éowyn allowed her approximately ten seconds to avoid the unspoken question and then asked, "Well?"

"Well, what?" Gúthwyn retorted, her expression still hidden.

"What did he do to you?" Éowyn asked, reaching over and gently moving Elfwine to the side so that she could see Gúthwyn.

"'Wyn, _stop!_" Elfwine cried, angrily sticking his tongue out at her. Éowyn blinked, taken aback by his ire. "Gúthy _mine!_"

Gúthwyn shushed him. "It is all right, little one," she murmured, smoothing his hair complacently. As she spoke, she took several deep breaths—the White Lady knew she was regaining her composure. "Éowyn, he did nothing to me. You are making too much of this."

"Then what was the meaning of the letter you sent me after he had left?" Éowyn interrogated her, determined not to let the truth slip through her fingers. She suspected that Gúthwyn had concealed many things from her over the years; this was not going to be one of them. Éowyn _knew_ that something had happened with Amrothos, regardless of the assurances her baby sister might give.

She thought she had achieved some ground when Gúthwyn flushed, but just as quickly the other woman recovered. "I am sorry if I was not clear," she said quietly. "I was in pain while I dictated the words and I expect they did not make much sense. Amrothos simply bumped into me while I was walking past him. I lost my balance and fell; it was my own clumsiness that injured me, not his malevolence."

Éowyn fixed her with a stern look. "I do not believe you," she said. "Faramir read the letter, also; he and I suspect Amrothos was more directly involved than you claim."

Gúthwyn had been about to protest her sister's lack of faith when her mouth dropped open. "You showed him what I wrote?" she demanded after a moment of horrified silence.

"Gúthy, be nice!" Elfwine pleaded, his chin quivering in distress.

For once, Éomund's youngest daughter did not listen to her nephew. "I was corresponding with you, not your husband—my words were not meant for his eyes!"

"I desired his opinion," Éowyn said calmly, though inwardly she was seething. _If I had divulged the envelope's contents to all the servants in Emyn Arnen, you would not have minded half as much,_ she thought accusingly. _Faramir has done everything in his power to secure your approval, and still you deny it to him! Why, Gúthwyn?_

"You—"

"Sister, stop." Éowyn cut the other woman off, not at all in the mood to listen to her in this particular regard. "What is done is done. If you do not wish to speak about what Amrothos did, fine. Do not. All I ask in return is that you treat Faramir with something resembling civility. He is not untrustworthy."

There was a very ugly silence between the two siblings. Elfwine began whimpering, prompting Gúthwyn to sit up and cradle him to her chest. "Oh, little one," she whispered, rubbing his back. "Do not be upset… hush, you are safe…"

Again, Éowyn felt a rush of envy; she glanced at the mirror and was surprised to see that her reflection was not green. She tried very hard not to stare at her nephew, whose skin was smooth as alabaster and whose hair was finer than silk. She tried very hard not to concentrate on the growing ache within her own womb, that which had just this morning proven itself to be fruitless once more.

At length, Gúthwyn sighed. "I am sorry, sister," she muttered wretchedly, for a brief instant appearing on the verge of tears. "I should not have been so rude. I do not wish to fight with you—you are only here for a month!"

Éowyn might have laughed at the dramatization, had Gúthwyn not been utterly serious. "You are right," she instead agreed heavily. "Let us discuss something else."

After that decision, there was a short pause, in which Gúthwyn lay back down and curled up with Elfwine. She was so small, so vulnerable; Éowyn's heart softened at the mere sight of her.

"Tell me, sister," the White Lady began, remembering something that had puzzled her a few hours ago: "why were you not with Éomer on the steps? I did not want to offend you by not greeting you, but etiquette decreed that I pay my respects to our brother first."

Gúthwyn waved away the insinuated apology. "I had to take this one here"—she kissed Elfwine's forehead—"away from Lothíriel." Instead of talking normally, she spelled the queen's name out, and then explained, "I would not speak ill of her around him."

Éowyn raised an eyebrow. "What happened?" she inquired.

Gúthwyn sighed. "He wanted me to hold him, though she was already doing so—I have never seen her more furious. I thought it better to keep him away from her, lest she grow even angrier."

Recalling an incident during lunch, Éowyn's curiosity was piqued. "I noticed that she was not overly pleased with you while we were eating," she said quietly, sensing Gúthwyn's reluctance to be discussing this in front of Lothíriel's son and thus avoiding use of the name. "Was it because of that?"

Nodding, Gúthwyn replied, "I do not know what I have done to her, beyond committing the offense of loving my nephew."

"He does spend much of his time with you," Éowyn pointed out, albeit gently. "Perhaps she wishes that she had more opportunities to get to know her son."

Gúthwyn bit her lip. "I do not try to interfere with his upbringing," she said, looking at Éowyn almost pleadingly. "Yet Éomer asks me to watch him whenever they are at council meetings, and they happen quite frequently…"

"No one is blaming you," Éowyn reassured her younger sister. "Just remember that not all are as gifted with children as you are—and Lothíriel has much to learn."

"Mama busy," Elfwine informed the White Lady, looking up from the depths of Gúthwyn's hair. "Mama no have time."

Éowyn pursed her lips. Children, especially young and impressionable ones, repeated what they often heard. She knew that, as queen, Lothíriel had a considerably busier schedule than Gúthwyn and could not afford to devote as many afternoons to the care of her son, but she hoped that at least some were set aside.

At that moment, there was a knock on the door. Gúthwyn started and abruptly drew Elfwine into her arms, pulling herself into a sitting position. Elfwine laughed at this, at the same time tugging on her locks. Over her nephew's mirth, Éowyn heard the familiar voice of her husband. "May I come in?" he asked.

"You may," Éowyn responded, smiling to hear Faramir.

Before he had even entered the room, Gúthwyn swung her legs over the side of the bed and rose to her feet. "I should bring him to Éomer," she announced, referring to Elfwine. Her face was pale.

Faramir stepped inside just then, and stopped short when he saw Gúthwyn. "My lady," he said, inclining his head. Éowyn noted his grave expression—both he and her sister were terrible at concealing their emotions. Gúthwyn's movements were tense as she executed a small curtsy, the best she could do with Elfwine in her arms.

"Éowyn, please, forgive me, I hardly helped you with the unpacking," she stammered, already edging towards the door.

"Not at all," Éowyn replied softly, deep-seated melancholy settling like a cloak over her shoulders. She hated this weakness, this moodiness; and yet she could not rid herself of it.

As Gúthwyn practically bolted from the room, Elfwine's cries of "'Bye, 'Wyn!" trailed after her, only deepening the White Lady's misery.

"What is wrong?" Faramir questioned, sensing her despair. Crossing the room, he kissed her on the brow and then wrapped his arms around her, drawing her close. She breathed in his scent and felt slightly more relaxed, but when memories of her nephew filled her mind she could not help but sigh.

"Elfwine will have seen two years in less than a week," she said, swallowing.

Faramir nodded somberly, knowing where this discussion was leading. How many times had they lamented their childlessness together? How many months had they spent anxiously waiting, praying for Éowyn to become pregnant, only to have their hopes cruelly dashed at the onset of a new cycle of the moon? "I feel so helpless," he murmured.

"Two years," Éowyn repeated. "We have been married for five, and yet our family has grown not at all." Her voice broke, but she did not cry. When she wept, bitter tears that the earth drank greedily, it was not in front of Faramir. She was not ashamed to succumb to grief before him, yet her current barrenness was something that she dealt with in private, something that she had to come to terms with on her own.

"It may," Faramir said comfortingly, cupping her chin in his hand. "The Valar may grant our wishes and send us an heir, whether it be boy or girl."

"I torture myself watching Elfwine," Éowyn confessed. "I see him and I burn with jealousy, yet I cannot look away for long."

"Someday," Faramir promised her firmly, his words carrying none of the doubts Éowyn knew he had. "Someday, we will have a son you can gaze upon without such torment. A son, or a daughter—or both."

Faramir had said _someday_ three years ago, when the question of why the White Lady had not yet missed her courses was just beginning to stir in their minds. Amongst the servants at Emyn Arnen, it was a well-known fact that the Steward regularly made love to his wife, and had done so ever since their wedding. Why, then, had she not conceived? The maids were too polite to comment, whether to her or behind her back, but Éowyn knew what they were thinking whenever they saw fresh bloodstains on her sheets, and the shame was almost more than she could bear.

Though she had had ample opportunity, the White Lady had not confided in her sister about the problem that plagued her. How could she tell Gúthwyn, for whom the mere mention of wifely duties was enough cause to cringe, that she had been attempting to conceive with Faramir for years and remained unsuccessful? How could she gaze into those eyes, still wide and innocent despite the atrocities they had seen, and recount the tales of visiting dozens of midwives and subjecting herself to their examinations? Of the remedies she had tried, of the month she had her husband had made love every single night in yet another futile attempt?

Nay, Gúthwyn would never understand. Éowyn had criticized the other woman for concealing the truth on a number of occasions, but in reality, she was no better. So long as her baby sister lived under Haldor's shadow, the White Lady would never burden her with the troubles of her marriage. Nor would she speak of them to Éomer, though by now he was doubtless wondering. She and Faramir were facing this struggle alone, a long and weary fight that they were losing faith of winning.

"Come," Faramir said then, with seemingly great effort. "There shall be plenty of time for worrying about a child when we return home—but for now, let us set the matter aside. You have not seen your family in almost two years; enjoy their company, and time will bring what it may."

"Aye," Éowyn agreed. Faramir was right. She had anticipated this reunion since it was decided upon, and she did not wish to cast a shadow over it with her own dark thoughts. "Someday."

Faramir smiled, tracing her lips with a smooth finger. "No matter what happens," he vowed, "I love you more than life itself."

Éowyn embraced him. "I love you, too," she said, thanking the Valar for bringing him into her world. She was far from a dependent, needy woman, but sometimes she wondered what she would do without him. The mere contemplation made her shiver.

_Please,_ she thought, safe in the arms of her husband, _let me bear our child. It is all I ask._


	5. Invasion of the Training Grounds

**Chapter Five**

The late afternoon sun was casting its rays upon the homes of Edoras, likening the thatch roofs to gold, as Gúthwyn walked along the main road to Meduseld. Her brow was covered in a thin film of sweat, a declaration of the effort she had expended in combat with the men. She held Framwine close to her. The blade mourned to be in its sheathe, but for once she was not eagerly anticipating the next time it would be freed from its confines. The training grounds had become unbearably crowded, though the soldiers' ranks had only been increased by a few.

It was the second day of Éowyn and Faramir's visit, and this morning the latter had invaded her favorite haunt with his company of Rangers. Gúthwyn resented how well they mingled with the Eorlingas, how highly Faramir's prowess was praised by the men. While she knew that visitors had every right to practice at their leisure, and she was not so ill-mannered as to confront her sister's husband and demand that he revoke this privilege, she hated the fact that he was there. His presence was a stain on her training session, one that she had tried to ignore by choosing as her partners those who were farthest away from the Steward.

Unlike the guards, who noticed nothing unusual about their lady's demeanor, Faramir was fully aware that he had upset Gúthwyn by simply setting foot on the grounds, and moreover he likely remembered how close they were to the anniversary of Borogor's death. She suspected that he had attempted to wait for her after he was done, but she had purposely lingered and busied herself with various menial tasks. At length, he had returned to Meduseld with the other Rangers; only then did she permit herself to follow suit.

As she passed through the crowds, she sought to occupy her mind with another topic, and in selecting Elfwine thus came to the matter of Lothíriel and Éowyn. After fleeing from the latter's chambers, she had gone to the former's in hopes of making amends for the disastrous lunch, and asked if the queen would like some time alone with her son. No sooner had she spoken than she realized that she had made a mistake.

Lothíriel had interpreted the gesture as one of pity, of charity, and had utterly spurned her. Taking a fussy Elfwine into her arms, she had coldly informed Éomund's daughter that when she wanted her child, she expected Gúthwyn to hand him over promptly, and to not bother her otherwise. To make matters worse, once Elfwine perceived that his beloved aunt intended to leave him, he began screaming and wailing, begging her to return.

The queen's response had been to shut the door in her rival's face. Stunned, Gúthwyn had stared at the barred entrance for a full minute before coming to her senses and leaving. All the while, Elfwine's sobs echoed behind her, demanding every ounce of willpower she had to not run back and scoop him into her arms, to murmur reassurances of safety and love in his ears.

Now she frowned, wondering how she might better Lothíriel's relations with Elfwine. She did not want the other woman to resent her, but more importantly she desired her nephew to spend quality time with his mother. Although she understood that Lothíriel had a busy schedule, she could not imagine that some of it was not allocated to the heir of Rohan.

Yet the dilemma with Lothíriel, pressing as it was, ranked second in the troubles besetting Gúthwyn. Her own sister was of more concern, and the fact that this was such a rare occurrence made it doubly so. Excepting the War of the Ring, she had never known Éowyn to be unhappy. On several occasions during their conversation, however, shadows had crossed the White Lady's face, try though she might to disguise them.

_I wonder if Elfwine is but one of the reasons for her discontent_, Gúthwyn thought, nodding absently at one of the guards she was strolling by. Éowyn's mood swings—subtle, yet mood swings nonetheless—were certainly connected to the child. Gúthwyn did not know why this was so, and she puzzled over it. This morning she had extended an invitation to her older sister to join her on a walk with Elfwine, but it had been turned down. Therefore, Éowyn could not have been jealous that Elfwine was more acquainted with his other aunt, as she had originally suspected.

Inwardly, Gúthwyn groaned. It was not supposed to be like this. Éowyn's homecoming should have been filled with laughter, smiles, and a renewal of love and affection between the sisters. Instead, she found that they had drifted further apart. The wall Faramir had driven between them was now impossible to tear down or even scale, and their closeness had suffered because of it.

"Gúthwyn?"

Starting, Éomund's daughter looked up, hoping that her hailer was not much beyond their second call. Their tone of voice certainly suggested this was the case. Embarrassingly, the addresser in question turned out to be Legolas. When she noticed him, he jumped nimbly off the boulder he had been reclining upon. It was the same rock she had shown him on one of his earlier visits.

"I am sorry," she apologized, blushing. "I did not mean to ignore you—I was lost in my thoughts."

"That is quite all right," Legolas replied. "I had only greeted you five or so times."

Gúthwyn could not help but laugh when she saw the corners of his mouth twitch. "Forgive me," she said, giggling.

"And what, may I ask, has preoccupied you so?" Legolas inquired, falling into step with her.

"I was thinking about Éowyn," Gúthwyn replied, hoping that her tone did not give away the gloomy nature of her contemplations. "Seeing her again has made me happier than she can possibly imagine."

"How long has it been since she last visited?" Legolas inquired, smiling.

"Nearly two years," Gúthwyn informed him, amazed that so much time had flown by. "I should have visited her, but…"

Legolas prompted her when she fell silent.

"It is nothing," she muttered, embarrassed. She could hardly tell Legolas that she had no interest in traveling to Ithilien again. More questions would be asked, questions that she could never answer.

Luckily, she was rescued from further inquiry by someone calling out to Legolas in a friendly salute. Glancing up, she saw the dignified Elf she had noticed the day before. He no longer wore his ring; instead, he carried a bow, clearly on his way to practice outside the walls of the city.

"Who was that?" Gúthwyn inquired after he had passed, narrowing her eyes as she thought of him frowning at Elfwine.

"Tirendil, an advisor and an old family friend," Legolas responded, chuckling as if reminded of a private joke. "I believe my father encouraged him to settle at the colony in order to ensure I stay out of trouble, though neither of them have admitted it. I imagine Tirendil would never have left Eryn Lasgalen unless my father requested it—most of the colony's inhabitants are younger, too 'undisciplined' for his tastes."

Gúthwyn raised an eyebrow. "He watches over you as I do Elfwine?" She stifled a grin at the idea.

"Not at all," Legolas protested, mildly indignant at her amusement. "My father simply fears that without someone breathing down my neck, I will neglect the running of the colony in favor of archery practice."

"Who would blame you?" Gúthwyn muttered. If she ever had the misfortune to be in charge of a realm, she knew she would find her training far more compelling than her management duties.

Legolas chuckled at her mutinous expression. "And if you were in my shoes, I daresay you would turn to the blade?"

Gúthwyn agreed that this was so. "I have not touched a bow since Helm's Deep," she admitted.

Legolas's eyes widened slightly, but he did not comment on what must have seemed to him a grievous misfortune. Instead, he inquired, "How did you learn to use one?"

Gúthwyn's face tightened, but she refused to give into the nausea that swelled in her stomach at his words. She was not going to think about Haldor's arms snaking around her body, forcing it into position and at the same time binding him to her. She was not going to think about how he had dragged her to his tent afterwards, ordering her to remove her shirt so that he could carve a knife through her back. And above all, she was not going to think about his threat of private lessons, nor of what they might have entailed.

"Gúthwyn?"

Starting, Éomund's daughter struggled to come to her senses. "I am sorry," she whispered, forgetting their agreement of no unnecessary apologies. "My thoughts were elsewhere."

Legolas nodded and did not press the issue, but ashamed of herself for being such poor company Gúthwyn blurted out, "I was taught in Mordor."

None of the Eorlingas were near them; no one but Legolas heard her confession. Yet he was enough, and too humiliated to meet his eyes she rubbed wretchedly at her wrist guard. Below it lurked the hideous brand, the mark she should have taken a knife to long ago.

"You should not be ashamed," Legolas said softly, aware of her distress. "It was not your fault."

Swallowing, Gúthwyn did not reply. Another time, perhaps, she might have changed the topic, but the melancholy that always settled upon her at the onset of June had drained her of the creativity to come up with a new subject. There was a long silence between them, broken only by the sounds of other people going about their daily business. She could sense Legolas watching her, yet her gaze was directed towards the ground and under the weight of her unhappiness seemed too heavy to lift.

"Sister, there you are!"

"Gúthy!"

The comforting, familiar speech of her family pulled Éomund's daughter from the throes of her misery, and she even smiled when she looked up and saw her nephew's ecstatic face. The young prince was wriggling enthusiastically in his father's arms, straining to reach his beloved aunt. In one of his hands he clutched the toy horse that he had received the day before.

"Good afternoon, brother," Gúthwyn said after Éomer had greeted Legolas, who smiled when he saw what Elfwine was holding. "How has your day been?"

"Busy," Éomer sighed, "and about to get busier. Within the hour I am holding a meeting concerning this year's harvest."

Gúthwyn raised an eyebrow. "It is months away!" she objected.

"Aldor seems to think we should discuss it," Éomer replied, "and I thought I would humor him. However, as a result, this little rascal"—Elfwine squealed when his hair was ruffled—"needs to be watched. Would you care for him while Lothíriel and I are at the council?"

"Of course," Gúthwyn said, her spirits lifting once more. "I would be delighted to."

"A thousand thanks," Éomer responded, surrendering his son. "I do not know what I would do without you, baby sister."

Mortified that the endearment had been repeated in front of Legolas, Gúthwyn opened her mouth to protest, but Elfwine beat her to it. "Gúthy not baby," he admonished Éomer. "_I_ baby!"

Éomer chuckled as Gúthwyn kissed the toddler's brow. "That you are," the king murmured fondly, winking at Éomund's daughter.

"Gúthy _mine_," Elfwine reminded everyone vehemently, yanking possessively at the few dark locks he could reach.

"Let me know if he gives you any trouble," Éomer retorted, warily eying the fistful of hair that Elfwine had wound around his free hand.

"I am sure he will not," Gúthwyn said confidently, grinning.

"Not," Elfwine repeated smugly.

Laughing, Éomer bid them all farewell and departed. Gúthwyn was left standing in the middle of the street with Legolas, but this time she at least had Elfwine as a buffer between them. As usual, her nephew proceeded to dominate the conversation, something she was all too willing to let him do.

"Leggy," the child began, waving the carved horse at him, "more Hobbits!"

"He wants you to speak to him about the Halflings," Gúthwyn explained when Legolas knit his brow, uncertain of what was the intent behind the child's speech.

"Not Haffings," Elfwine corrected impatiently. "Hobbits!"

Too amused to think of what she was doing, Gúthwyn exchanged a smile with Legolas. "I will tell you a story concerning Hobbits, my friend," the Elf announced, his gaze lingering on her for a moment, "but only if you promise to be on your best behavior." There was a conspiratorial grin tugging at the corner of his mouth, one that he shared with Éomund's daughter.

"What do you think, little one?" Gúthwyn asked merrily. "Can you be a good boy for Legolas?"

"I _is_ a good boy!" Elfwine insisted, looking indignant that his manners were even being called into question.

Gúthwyn burst out laughing, causing Elfwine to follow suit. "Yes, you are," she agreed, tousling his hair. "Now, continue being one and listen to Legolas."

As Legolas began his story, which was about the adventure in which Bilbo Baggins found the Ring, Elfwine settled comfortably in Gúthwyn's arms and became absolutely enthralled by the tale. Though it took the Elf nearly half an hour to tell, which normally would have been about ten times the child's youthful attention span, it was marvelously crafted, involving much exaggeration and comical gestures for the listeners' benefit. At one point, Gúthwyn suggested sitting on the edge of the well so that they would not be in the way of passerby; such was the attention Elfwine had bestowed upon their companion that he did not even attempt to touch the water.

Equally interested in what Legolas was saying, Gúthwyn nevertheless took time to wonder at the Elf's demeanor. Normally so reserved around her that he appeared to be determining his every action and word by whether or not it would make her uncomfortable, his reticence was now fading, his guard relaxed as he became involved in his story. He seemed to genuinely take pleasure from Elfwine's mirth, and even more from hers. His speech was free, his motions losing their usual cautiousness; and not once, she discovered, did this newfound familiarity frighten her.

The conclusion of the tale was a spectacular battle between five armies: Elves, Men, Dwarves, wolves, and goblins. Having never heard the story before, Gúthwyn did not realize that Legolas had altered part of it because of her—the wolves were, in fact, Wargs. She was thus mistaken in assuming that Legolas was no longer as careful as he had once been, but in her ignorance she was pleased to note that his more casual manner of address had not bothered her.

"Again!" Elfwine begged when the Elf finished, clapping his hands in delight. "Leggy, more Hobbits!"

"No, silly," Gúthwyn intervened, not wanting her charge to wear the older prince out. "He has been kind enough to tell you one story—it would not be good for him to lose his voice!"

Elfwine ignored the reasoning and instead concentrated on the denial, pouting. "Peas, Gúthy?"

Éomund's daughter was spared a response—which, in the face of her nephew's pleading eyes, was veering dangerously towards "yes"—by someone hailing Legolas. It was another Elf; Gúthwyn thought she recognized him as the only one who had not successfully completed the last archery challenge at the tournament. Unlike Tirendil, he carried a sword at his side.

Freezing when she realized the implication behind the Elf's possession of the item, Gúthwyn abruptly stood in a move that went unnoticed because Legolas, too, rose to his feet so that he might exchange greetings. "Faelon," he said, smiling. "You have abandoned the bow?"

Gúthwyn barely registered the use of the Common Tongue, intended solely for her benefit, so horrified was she that an Elf would dare trespass upon the training grounds. She could only stare at the gleaming blade in his hands, hardly noticing the exquisite craftsmanship in her disbelief.

"I grow tired of archery," Faelon was saying as her mind became numb with shock. "I know you cannot comprehend it, but there are some who prefer combat in close quarters."

Legolas shook his head in amusement, indicating that he could not, in fact, comprehend it. "And which unfortunate soul did you beguile into joining you?"

"Trelan," Faelon replied, laughing. He glanced at Gúthwyn, as if inviting her to partake in the conversation should she so wish, but though she managed to tear her gaze away from his sword she could not bring herself to meet his eyes. Instead, she tightened her hold on Elfwine, who was paying overdue attention to his toy horse. "I think he simply felt sorry for me."

"I must say, I am surprised you waited this long to enter the training grounds," Legolas remarked, also looking at Gúthwyn—yet not for the same reason as Faelon.

As Éomund's daughter shifted uncomfortably on her feet, the other Elf responded, "This is the first time I have been able to find a partner, and Trelan only obliged because, as I have said, he pitied me."

"Leggy, who that?" Elfwine interrupted, sticking his fingers in his mouth. At last tired of his toy, he now began to scrutinize the stranger in front of him with his usual open curiosity. "That Eff?"

Faelon's cough sounded suspiciously like a laugh; Legolas gave him a mock glare before telling the child, "His name is Faelon, and yes, he is an Elf."

"Fye-on," Elfwine tried, giggling. "Fye-on, you Leggy friend?"

"Yes, I am Leggy's friend," Faelon confirmed, smirking.

"Fye-on _my_ friend now!" Elfwine announced to everyone, not realizing that his nicknames were fodder for the others' entertainment. "Gúthy, you Fye-on friend?"

"Enough, little one," Gúthwyn quieted him. "Let Faelon be."

"No," Elfwine retorted, pulling at her hair. Almost immediately, however, his attention was diverted by a much more pressing concern: his empty belly. "Gúthy, want food."

"I should go," Gúthwyn muttered to Legolas, rather relieved to have an excuse to put a considerable amount of distance between her and the Elves.

"Are you returning to the Golden Hall?" Legolas inquired.

Gúthwyn nodded. "This silly boy"—her words were more directed to Elfwine, and followed by a kiss on the child's forehead—"needs to eat."

"Gúthy need eat," Elfwine mumbled under his breath.

"If you are not opposed, I will accompany you back," Legolas offered, too well-mannered to acknowledge Elfwine's declaration, though Gúthwyn's cheeks burned when she heard it. "I was intending to walk there, also."

The polite course of action, naturally, was to agree. Faelon took his leave of them and continued on his way to the training grounds, unaware that Elfwine was mournfully staring at him over Gúthwyn's shoulder. Meanwhile, Éomund's daughter and Thranduil's son began the trek up to Meduseld, completing the greater part of it in silence.

They had almost neared the stairs when Legolas asked quietly, "May I consult you on a matter?"

Wondering what he could possibly want to consult her about, Gúthwyn said guardedly, "You may."

His next words cut her to the core. "Would it trouble you if I were to occasionally join Faelon at the training grounds? Besides Trelan, there are not many who are willing to be his partner when they could be at the archery range instead."

Gúthwyn's heart froze, but she ordered her lips to keep moving. "N-No, it is fine… you are our guest, y-you are welcome to use any of our services," she lied, temporarily turning white. Determined that Legolas would not see her sudden pallor, she quickly pretended to be very interested in a group of Eorlingas on her other side.

"Please, do not lie," Legolas said as they began ascending the stairs. "If you feel at all uncomfortable with my suggestion, I beg you to tell me."

"I am fine," Gúthwyn answered swiftly; perhaps too swiftly. Seeing the look of disbelief on the Elf's face, she hastened to secure her position. All the while, she attempted to block the thoughts of what horrors his presence would force her to confront, the same fears she struggled with even on a good day. "I speak the truth—I-I am fine, really."

"Gúthy fine," Elfwine scoffed helpfully. His defense of his aunt was resolute, firmly unwavering, until he remembered the most important matter at hand. "Gúthy, when eat?"

"Now, little one," Éomund's daughter promised wearily, coming to a halt while the guards finished opening the doors. "I thank you for your concern," she told Legolas before stepping inside her home, "but it is quite unnecessary."

"On the contrary," Legolas responded seriously. "I would never presume to intrude upon your practice without permission."

"The permission is not mine to give," Gúthwyn said, holding Elfwine tighter. "For that you must appeal to my brother, though I will save you the inconvenience and assure you that it will be readily granted."

"You know that his favor is not what I seek," Legolas answered, his conviction rooting her to the floor, "but rather that of the one who has most reasons to not bestow it."

Gúthwyn was unable to come up with a retort, desire though she did to contradict him. Instead she stood there, her cheeks flaming red, until Elfwine irritably broke her misery.

"Gúthy, give me food!"


	6. A Wager and a Duel

**Chapter Six**

Legolas did not often lose a sparring match when he wielded his faithful knives, but when he did it was usually to Faelon. Having devoted as much of his time to his swordsmanship as his prince had to archery—and likely more—Faelon was a worthy opponent among Thranduil's greatest warriors. The brunt of many a cruel jest in his younger years, Faelon had thrown himself into his training, determined to prove his worth in the art of sword-fighting.

His efforts had certainly paid off. Legolas had been exchanging jabs and parries with him for nearly half an hour, and not once had Faelon made the slightest mistake. Thranduil's son was hard put to find a weakness in his friend's guard, which naturally made him more determined to do so. As always, however, he was at a loss.

"Come, prince," Faelon teased him light-heartedly, turning his sword at an angle so that it blocked both of Legolas's weapons. "You have two blades, I have one—should this not be less difficult for a king's son?"

Legolas laughed. "I would have to be a fool to believe that," he retorted, pulling away and circling around the other Elf, searching for another opportunity. Though he knew his surroundings consisted of Rohirric men—and a woman—noisily testing their prowess, they had all disappeared from his vision. He and Faelon were the only ones at the training grounds, the only ones who mattered.

"I see you have been slacking," Faelon noted a moment later, when Legolas barely managed to avoid a blow. "Even the most talented archer must learn to fight in close quarters…"

"I am well past the learning stage, I deem," Legolas retorted, darting in and thrusting at Faelon's shoulder. With abnormally swift reflexes, Faelon deflected the strike; he hardly appeared to even blink.

"Then perhaps it would behoove you to revisit a few crucial lessons," Faelon suggested, pushing Legolas back with a few well-placed attacks, "such as remembering to guard your—"

"Head," Legolas muttered a second later, as Faelon tapped his skull with the flat side of his blade.

A sharp upswing in noise announced the return of the other warriors to the training grounds; Faelon smirked, withdrawing his sword. "Your father would not be pleased," he said.

Legolas smiled. Thranduil knew fully well that Faelon was nigh unbeatable in hand-to-hand combat, yet Legolas could still imagine the Elven king berating him for making such a foolish mistake. "_I_ am not," he answered, inwardly vowing to perform better during the next round.

"Let us wait a few minutes before you lose again," Faelon suggested, eliciting a good-natured glare from Legolas. "I want to watch the men."

They walked a few feet towards where they had placed their gear and stood, surveying the Eorlingas. Legolas instinctively searched for Gúthwyn, hoping that his presence was not ruining her afternoon. Tired of being defeated by Faelon again and again, Trelan had asked Thranduil's son to take a turn sparring with their friend, and he had not wanted to refuse. However, as soon has he had set foot on the training grounds, Gúthwyn's eyes had locked with his own, and the unpleasant jolt he saw within them had reminded him that she was still anxious around him—regardless of how forcefully she asserted otherwise.

"I find mortals fascinating," Faelon admitted after a long silence, gazing all around him. "There is something so different, so unique about them."

"Physically, yes," Legolas agreed. Men were broader; they grew hair in places Elves did not; they aged rapidly. "Yet if they, too, had eternal life, I think their concerns and thoughts would be much the same as ours. To us, they seem impulsive, even rash—but would we not be so if we did not have forever to roam Middle-earth?"

Faelon thought about this for a moment, observing Erkenbrand and Gamling out of the corner of his eye. "I wish I knew for certain that you were right," he responded. "You are well aware of my feelings regarding the prejudices of our kind."

No one Elf was singled out, but Legolas did not need to hear any names to realize whom Faelon was referring to. "Some of them have reasons to distrust Men," he reminded his friend gently.

Faelon nodded darkly, choosing not to pursue the subject. "I confess," he began after a pause, "I have studied these same humans closely for the past week"—the amount of time they had been in Edoras, for it was now the seventh of June—"and while most of their emotions are easily detectable, Prince Faramir remains a closed book to me."

Legolas's gaze swung towards where the Steward was sparring with a Ranger. "He is more reserved than most," Thranduil's son acknowledged, "but by no means is he aloof as one might suspect."

"His father and brother died in the War, did they not?" Faelon inquired thoughtfully. "Denethor and Boromir?"

"Aye, they did," Legolas confirmed, bowing his head in memory of the latter. He had never met Denethor before learning of his demise, but as a member of the Fellowship Boromir would be forever dear to him.

"He is very cautious with his blade," Faelon remarked, his eyes following the Steward's glittering weapon as it sliced through the air. "He prefers defense to offense, and attacks only when he is certain of success—an interesting strategy."

"Yet not one that you yourself would use," Legolas surmised. He had been acquainted with Faelon, and his friend's tendency to analyze others' fighting techniques at lengthy detail in hopes of bettering his own, long enough to detect his approval, disapproval, and every shade in between. Faelon's expression now hinted at the latter, and he nodded, confirming Legolas's guess.

"It is certainly well-suited for the training grounds, and even to some extent in battle," he acknowledged. "But I would find it otherwise lacking."

As he spoke, Gúthwyn entered their field of vision, retrieving her water gourd from where she had left it near a boulder. Legolas's gaze shifted to her, noting the slump of her shoulders and the listlessness with which her motions were characterized. For reasons unbeknownst to him and, apparently, her family, she had been subdued from the moment she arrived at the breakfast table.

Even before she sat down, her eyes had met theirs, bloodshot from lack of sleep. Éomer's concerned inquiries she had brushed off; Éowyn's stern ones had fared no better. Determined to succeed where his father and aunt had failed, Elfwine had attempted to draw Gúthwyn out of her shell—he had sat on her lap, pulled at her hair, babbled in increasingly hysterical tones, and in general made a spectacle out of himself in an effort to get a response. Beyond a feeble smile, Éomund's daughter had not rewarded him for his labors.

She had also refused to eat, despite Éomer's threats—and threats they certainly were, though they were uttered most discreetly in Rohirric. For the rest of the meal she had stared blankly at her plate, desolate, not partaking in the conversation and giving such monosyllabic answers to those who tried to include her that eventually everyone came to the consensus that it would be best to leave her to herself.

No one could unearth the reasoning for her behavior. After she had taken her leave of them and returned a thoroughly disappointed Elfwine to his parents, Éowyn and Éomer had discussed the matter worriedly, though they were unable to come up with an explanation. Legolas and Faramir, outsiders, had uncomfortably feigned deafness to the siblings' fretting; the latter kept glancing regretfully at the door through which Gúthwyn had exited, as if wishing that he, too, had left the table.

Aware that his friend's attention had recently become errant, Faelon's speculation of Faramir's fighting capabilities descended into silence. Following the Elven prince's gaze, he asked quietly, "What troubles the lady Gúthwyn?"

"I do not know," Legolas replied in an equally low tone of voice. "She was in a similar mood during breakfast, yet it is not my place to inquire."

Sighing, Gúthwyn lowered herself onto the boulder, looking like the smallest, most wretched creature in all of Middle-earth. The water gourd was halfway to her mouth when she set it back down, appearing not to have the energy required to lift it. Legolas felt a surge of pity for her, though he could not place the source of her grief.

"Her skill is remarkable," Faelon commented then. "I daresay she could defeat all of the men here."

"She already has," Legolas answered with a chuckle, recalling the boasts he had heard many of the soldiers making on behalf of their lady. Éomund's daughter did not encourage the men, but they persisted for the reward of a smile, or a blush if their flattery was particularly embarrassing.

Unaware that she was the topic of the Elves' conversation, Gúthwyn was now looking at Faramir and his men. As the seconds passed, Legolas was shocked to see hatred form in her stare, a passionately venomous hatred that was utterly inconsistent with her normally reserved, even somewhat cool, behavior around the Steward. It rivaled the loathing with which she had once viewed Thranduil's son, but there was no terror in her expression now.

Feeling as if he were intruding upon something, though Gúthwyn for once was not sharply aware of his presence, Legolas looked away and suggested to Faelon that they resume training. His friend was most agreeable to this, and they spent the next several minutes sparring. During the course of their match, Legolas was pleased to at one point have the upper hand, albeit for a very brief period of time that was over all too soon. He suspected Faelon rather liked disillusioning him from his thoughts of grandeur.

When the other Elf claimed another victory, they paused for a moment so that, according to Faelon, Legolas could reflect upon his lost dignity. Eyes rolling, Thranduil's son began to survey the men around them, much in the same way he would if he were overseeing a practice for the guards of Eryn Lasgalen. Almost without realizing he was doing so, he started to think of the means by which they might improve their technique, the instruction they needed to properly maintain their defenses.

A sudden burst of cheering drew him out of his musings. Glancing over towards the source of the disturbance, he was surprised to see Gúthwyn and Faramir circling each other, swords in hand. From the expressions on both of their faces—barely concealed hatred on Gúthwyn's, wariness on Faramir's—Legolas suspected that this was more than a friendly duel. Anticipating a match worthy of speculation, their companions were gathering around them, each cheering their lord or lady on.

"She will win," Faelon predicted, no trace of doubt in his speech.

Legolas raised an eyebrow. "And what makes you so confident?" he questioned. Faramir's ability on the field, while less praised than his brother's, was praised nonetheless. His strength may have lain with the bow, but as the captain of the Ithilien Rangers he would have undergone extensive training regimens. Legolas did not know how Sauron's forces had practiced, yet he rather doubted that its soldiers had received private instruction, which was often crucial to honing one's talent.

Faelon's reasoning was far more succinct than his own. "She is a better fighter," he said simply.

Legolas gave him a look. He had never compared the two of them side-by-side, but he was surprised that Faelon had so easily dismissed Faramir.

"If Faramir is as renowned a warrior as rumor has it, then his fame is due to his use of another weapon, not the sword," Faelon replied. "He is not a natural. She, on the other hand, is. I might go so far as to say she is the best mortal I have encountered, though, granted, I have not encountered many. Has she ever tested her skill against Elessar?"

There was a pause before Legolas responded: Gúthwyn had feinted at Faramir and they had begun to spar in earnest. "She has," he at length replied, recalling the match he had inadvertently walked in on. Distracted by his presence, Gúthwyn had lost to Aragorn, but the Ranger had later confided in Legolas that he would have been defeated had she not been startled. "He won, but barely."

Faelon nodded appraisingly. "I rest my case," he declared.

So far, Faramir seemed to be holding his own. Rather than form an opinion on the matter, Legolas decided to watch the two combatants and wait to see what happened. He was privately worried for Gúthwyn, who had been looking rather pale all morning and according to her siblings was still recovering from her broken wrists, but he knew she would be mortified if he expressed such concern.

Instead he stepped closer, taking care to remain in the background so that she would not notice him—if indeed she was even aware of the crowd that had formed around her and the Steward. Her face was contorted in concentration, her eyes only on her sister's husband. It was clear that she had every intention of winning; Faramir was merely an obstacle to her victory.

"I almost pity Faramir," Faelon said lightly. "She looks as if she would kill him without a second thought."

Though his friend spoke in jest, Legolas agreed in earnest.

* * *

><p>With a sigh, Gúthwyn sank onto a small boulder in the middle of the training grounds, picking up her water gourd out of habit. Framwine she set beside her, but even the sight of the sheathed blade could not soothe her today. Joining the men had been a mistake, she reflected unhappily. Knowing that Faramir would be here with his Rangers, what had ever possessed her to practice in their presence on the anniversary of Borogor's death? What madness had clutched her in its grip and made her think that she could possibly last the afternoon?<p>

All too quickly she had been brought back to reality. She felt as if she were being suffocated by her misery, making it difficult to fight for long periods of time. Occasionally she would be overcome by bouts of lethargy, which only worsened matters. More than anything, she wanted to return to the Golden Hall, barricade herself in her room, and fall asleep until this horrible day was over.

Perhaps she would follow up on that idea. Raising the gourd to her lips, she got only halfway before realizing that she did not have the energy to care. Lowering it back down, she began contemplating how she might leave without being noticed. It was rare for Éomund's daughter to depart earlier than the late afternoon, and there were bound to be questions that she could not answer.

"Again? My lord Faramir, you have already defeated me once!"

The laughing protest caused her to glance up, her fists automatically clenched. _Do not look at him, do not look at him, do not look at him,_ she ordered herself, but it was too late: her eyes had swung over to where she knew the Steward was, and the moment she saw him smiling at a fellow Ranger she was engulfed by a rush of hatred. That he _dared_ to show himself here on _this_ day when it was _his_ hand that had felled Borogor—she loathed the Valar for playing this cruel joke, that this very man had married her sister.

Barely resisting the temptation to run over and rip Faramir's grin right off his face, preferably along with his head, Gúthwyn attempted to calm herself down. However, her breathing was uneven, her complexion certainly growing redder, and she found the exercise difficult. Several times she became aware that she was staring fixedly at the Steward as if she were placing a wordless curse upon him, but beyond giving her several moments' joyful contemplation of what said curse might actually be, the realization did not have any effect on her.

Ten minutes had gone by before Faramir unhanded his current challenger, a match that Gúthwyn watched closely, imagining herself to be the combatant. Her pulse quickened; she suddenly would have traded anything to be in the position of the one confronting him, to triumph over him and to finally put him in his place. She would have him begging her for mercy, mercy that she would only give because of Éowyn—and she would remind him of that.

Faramir appeared to be ready to retire. Around him, the Rangers were sheathing their swords and picking up their scattered equipment, jesting with each other about the day's accomplishments and failures. They began drawing closer to Gúthwyn, their leader for once unaware of their proximity to her. After figuring out that Éomund's daughter had adopted towards him a policy of avoidance at all costs, the Steward had made it mutual.

"Half of these soldiers look as if they have barely graduated to using real swords," one of the Rangers chuckled, unaware of Gúthwyn's presence.

Éomund's daughter bristled, though he was right: a number of men had recently just become old enough to train with the other warriors. Their smooth, beardless faces were easily distinguishable, even beneath their helmets.

"Yes, my lord, I cannot begin to fathom why you will not challenge the Rohirrim—most of them would hardly make you work for a victory." This remark earned a round of laughter.

Gúthwyn had to grudgingly admit that Faramir appeared uncomfortable before he glanced over and saw her at the rock, but when his mortified eyes met hers she despised him all the more. "And yet those of them who have been training for more than a year might say the same of your _lord_," she said as loudly, as rudely as she dared.

The Rangers swiveled around, yet most of the Eorlingas were busy sparring and did not hear her. He who had commented on the young soldiers gave her a lingering, surly once-over. _You silly little girl,_ he might as well have prefaced his speech, "_Prince_ Faramir's experience far exceeds that of any untested warrior within the Rohirrim's ranks."

Gúthwyn snorted, not caring how offensive she was being. "If you consider lurking in the woods and shooting at the Enemy from the safety of trees experience, then—"

"My lady," Faramir said sternly, giving her a sharp look. "I do not wish my men to argue with you. Pray leave them be."

She suddenly realized that he did not know what day it was.

"Perhaps they should have been aware that they were surrounded by the very people they were insulting before they opened their mouths," she snapped, ignoring the Steward's warning in favor of the hatred coursing through her veins.

"My apologies," Faramir said quietly, inclining his head. "They were not intending to slight the Eorlingas."

Had she been capable of reason, at that point Gúthwyn would have apologized for her actions and let the Rangers depart in peace. However, on this day she could not permit them to walk away—not when they had made such insinuations concerning her people, not when their captain had taken from her something she would never get back.

"All the same," she replied, getting to her feet and unsheathing Framwine, "perhaps one of them should defend their position."

As she had expected, none of the Rangers appeared eager to take her up on her offer. While they muttered against themselves, they were fully aware that the woman before them had far more substantial skills than the fresh recruits of Rohan's army. The fact that their own princess had slain the Witch-king of Angmar also protected them from the folly of underestimating a shieldmaiden's talent. They looked at her, and they looked at each other, but no one stepped forward.

"Cowards," Gúthwyn spat, though she was secretly glad that they were so slow to accept her proverbial gauntlet. Acting quickly so that none of them would have the chance to, she turned towards Faramir. "Since your men are so lacking, shall we duel, Captain?"

For a long time, Faramir studied her, his wary eyes scrutinizing her own. Gúthwyn determinedly held his gaze, refusing to look away. The men glanced back and forth between the two of them, wondering in trepidation what would transpire. At length, the Steward stepped towards Éomund's daughter, speaking quietly so that his companions could not hear. "Gúthwyn, what are you doing?"

"Challenging you to a duel," she answered coldly. Fully aware that her reason for doing so was pathetic, she nevertheless could not control the desire within her to humiliate him, to beat him into the dust at her feet. "It is time to take responsibility for your men's actions." _And your own,_ she added silently.

"This has nothing to do with what they said," Faramir replied curtly. "You have avoided me for a week and now you make a flimsy excuse to fight me? I am not a fool, Gúthwyn."

"You would be one to not accept," she retorted, knowing that taunting him for cowardice would not give her what she wanted. He would not rise to the bait; she had to resort to blackmail. "If not today"—it _had_ to be today—"we will meet swords tomorrow, for when Éowyn learns that you rebuffed my attempt at friendship, she will doubtless convince you to seize an assuredly fleeting opportunity. Think wisely, Captain."

"Do not bring Éowyn into this," Faramir hissed. His voice would have made a lesser man quail—his friends were shifting uneasily on their feet—but Gúthwyn did not even flinch.

"It is too late for that," she responded, glaring. "_You_ were the one who decided to rob me of a sister."

"I married her, not stole her," Faramir growled, angling his back so that the Rangers would not see his furious expression. "She has given you countless opportunities to visit her, and yet you refuse every invitation! Do not accuse me of taking Éowyn away from you, when it is you who have shunned her company."

"I would never shun her company," Gúthwyn snarled, "but for your presence, a blight on what little happiness I have had this week. This is not about my sister, Captain. Like you, I wish to keep her unaware of this matter. Therefore, I would suggest acquiescence on your part."

"Why?" Faramir asked. "What have either of us to gain from this?"

"Shall we make a wager?" Gúthwyn returned, feeling that 'my own satisfaction' was not a sufficient answer. "If I win, you will not set foot on the training grounds for the rest of your stay. If you win," _which you will not_, she assured herself, "I will publicly apologize to your men for slighting their leader, and… I will visit Éowyn in Emyn Arnen before the year is out, without so much as thinking a word of complaint."

That stopped him short. Gúthwyn felt a wave of guilt crash over her as she realized just how much Éowyn must have missed her company, if Faramir was reconsidering because of this offer. Grudgingly, she admitted that her sister had chosen well, if her husband was so willing to sacrifice his happiness for hers—for the Steward would certainly derive no pleasure from Gúthwyn's presence in his home.

"On one more condition," Faramir said finally.

"What?" Éomund's youngest daughter snapped impatiently, her remorse evanescing at the mere sound of his voice.

"No matter what happens," Faramir replied, "afterwards we will resolve our differences and treat each other civilly, especially when Éowyn is near. This cannot go on."

"I will never 'resolve my differences' with you," Gúthwyn retorted, incensed at the mere idea. "I will never forget what you did and I will never stop blaming you for the fact that I am not his wife. But because my sister is yours, something I can assure you I curse the Valar every day for, I will consent to the second piece of your bargain. I have grown accustomed to concealing misery, terror, and agony; bitter hatred should be no more difficult."

As Faramir stared at her in shock, Gúthwyn realized that she had just revealed more of herself to him than she had ever intended to. Her cheeks reddening angrily, she nevertheless held his gaze.

"Éowyn has never mentioned you being this unhappy," Faramir at length said, in a soft, pitying tone that Gúthwyn loathed.

"What does Éowyn know?" she countered. The hand that was not holding Framwine clenched into a tight ball. "Do you honestly believe I would ever tell her anything important anymore, when she obviously relays it all to you? Do I look like an idiot?"

Faramir opened his mouth to reply, but Gúthwyn had had enough. "On second thought, do not answer that. Our wager holds, and I further swear to behave decently towards you regardless of the outcome, though it will cost me much to do so. Now, let actions take the place of words. Shall we?" She lifted her sword to emphasize her point.

"I cannot fathom what motivation you have for this duel," Faramir said, taking a step back and raising his own blade, "but as you wish."

It was all Gúthwyn needed. Realizing that combat was about to begin, Faramir's men cheered him on, but she barely even heard them. She and the Steward started circling around each other, the tension between them so thick that a knife alone would not suffice to cut it. Éomund's daughter was dimly aware of other men drifting over to watch, yet they were unimportant and she acknowledged them only as dark blurs on the corners of her vision.

Knowing that Faramir would never make the first move, she feinted to the right and then, once she had convinced him that she would follow through with the strike, abruptly switched tactics and cut to the left. Faramir was forced to awkwardly maneuver to protect himself, but once he had done so he deterred her subsequent attacks more easily. He was clearly skilled. Gúthwyn, however, had faced warriors of such greater talent that she recognized immediately that the one before her would pose no significant challenge.

This pleased her, and she expended all her efforts in tiring him, wanting to thoroughly disgrace him in front of all his soldiers. A well-trained warrior, it would take some time for him to grow fatigued; she was more than content to wait. As she clashed swords with her sister's husband, she spun out her strategy, resolving to save her fiercest offense for the moment he began to weaken.

She could tell that he was struggling to find a way to break through her guard. It was a futile exercise, for she had never maintained it as well as she was doing now. She was absolutely determined that this victory should be hers, and to accomplish this goal she drew upon all the sparring techniques gleaned over the years from Borogor. _If only you could see me now,_ she thought, pushing Faramir back with a hard blow.

Memories of the man who had died six years ago tormented her, propelled her. She could hear his voice in her ears with more clarity than those of the onlookers, could remember his arms wrapped around her better than she could recall where she was right now. Reality had disappeared, leaving behind only a hazy mission of revenge that she would complete if it was the last thing she ever did.

The minutes flew by. Gúthwyn deliberately kept her full strength on reserve, delaying until the second she sensed her opponent falter. Hot blood coursed through her veins, outdistanced only by adrenaline. She felt alive for the first time since the wretched month of June had begun; yet again and again she thought of death, of the reason why Borogor was no longer with her today.

Slowly but surely, Faramir was losing ground. He fought bravely and for Éowyn's sake, but honor and loyalty were no match against the ferocious hatred radiating from every inch of Éomund's daughter. She imagined Framwine dripping with the Captain's scarlet fluids, imagined him crumpled on the ground before her. It was inconceivable to think that she should let him off with mere defeat, when he had inflicted more anguish upon her than even Haldor had.

At last, at long last, Faramir's movements slowed. Gúthwyn could not possibly begin to reckon how much time had gone by since the onset of their match, but the shadows around them had deepened and she knew it was no small amount. He was tired; he had never wanted to fight her in the first place. Tasting victory, she unleashed her final stores of energy.

Faramir gave way before her like straw consumed by fire. Not once did she let up on him. She drove him out of the circle of men that had gathered around them, the only moment she paid attention to their spectators. She forced his companions to scatter and regroup when she pushed their leader through their midst; afterwards she ignored them, bent on ruining the Captain.

They were dangerously near the edge of the training grounds, but to Éomund's daughter their surroundings had altered to match the foliage of Ithilien. The rustling trees, the threat of ambush from all directions, the smell of danger all closing in on her—she had to eliminate the Captain, she had to prevent him from harming Borogor. She fought as if her life depended on it, as if the children's lives depended on it.

In vain, Faramir attempted to turn the tide. She would have none of this, and simply amplified her own attacks. Perhaps it was the wild, almost manic, fury in her eyes; perhaps it was the realization that she was growing faster, stronger, by the second; whatever the case, the Captain began to worry. "Gúthwyn, what are you doing?" he demanded once, panting. She did not respond: it was time to move in for the kill.

In a sudden explosion of loathing, Éomund's daughter launched a last assault and utterly broke her opponent. When he was too sluggish to repel one of her strikes, she swung her sword at his head, forcing him to duck. As he straightened, she went straight for his blade, slamming it to the side. His sweating palms lost their key grip, providing her with a split-second opportunity that she seized.

Before he had time to react, she darted in and used a quick hit to knock the weapon out of his hand. It clattered to the ground beside him, now useless. She leaped forward and pushed him away from the fallen blade, not wanting anything to mar her victory. With a sudden motion, she put the tip of her sword at his throat. For an exhilarating moment, fulfillment was hers: she could spill his blood and have her vengeance. She could execute Borogor's killer.

She looked into Faramir's eyes, seeing that they were dilated with fear. He was at her mercy now, or lack thereof. Coldly, she placed the tip of her blade at the center of his throat, the pressure not enough to draw much more than a drop of blood but enough to indicate that he should kneel. Slowly she forced him to obey, increasing the weight behind Framwine until he complied.

Only when he was on the ground before her, their positions drastically reversed from that day six years ago, did Gúthwyn's senses return to her. She was not in Ithilien, she was in Edoras. Faramir was not a captain, but a prince, and moreover a prince married to her sister. She could not so much as harm the merest hair on his head, let alone slay him. Borogor was dead, and nothing that she did would bring her lover back.

As these realizations crashed over her, she began to shake. What had she just done? Silence roared in her ears; when she glanced up, she was surrounded by men who were gaping at her in shock. Men of both Emyn Arnen and Rohan, all of whom were shaken by what they had witnessed. Prince Faramir, Steward of Gondor, had brutally been brought to his very knees by a woman—his wife's sister, no less.

"Do you yield?" Gúthwyn snarled, furious with herself for losing control the way she had.

"Why?" Faramir asked her, barely able to breathe.

Gúthwyn's next words were so quiet that even their intended recipient had to strain to hear them. "Have you already forgotten what day it is?"

There was a very ugly silence. At first, Faramir did not seem to comprehend what she had said. His lips formed the words "June seventh," and he looked up at her curiously. Then all the color drained out of his face. She saw him stare at her as though sickened, as though she had just revealed some disgusting personal flaw.

"By the Valar," he whispered, knowing.

"_Do you yield?_" Gúthwyn said again, the question suddenly difficult to get out around the lump in her throat.

There was a long pause. "I yield," Faramir said at length, powerless against her.

Lowering Framwine, Éomund's daughter stepped back and looked around the utterly silent training grounds. The familiar faces she saw were pale; their voices were now uneasy mutterings, accompanied by sidelong glances at her. As she sheathed her sword, she overheard one of the men remarking, "Has she gone mad?"

Under hundreds of incredulous eyes, Gúthwyn slowly turned from her conquest and walked away. The crowd parted to let her through; none of them wanted to get too close. They might as well have been insects for all she cared. As she left the training grounds, she felt her heart grow heavier with each step.

Humiliating Faramir in front of his men had not helped her. It had only made her feel worse.


	7. Imaginary Bliss

**Chapter Seven**

Wearily Éomund's youngest daughter trudged up the main road of Edoras, her spirit as downtrodden as the path below her. Swirling around in her mind, her thoughts had no clear focus, and often disappeared as quickly as they came. As her body stopped shaking, however, they became more centered, zeroing in on a subject that was nothing less than torture.

She missed Borogor so much that it hurt. She missed his solidarity, his reassuring presence, and the way he alone had been allowed past her guard. She wanted him to hold her in his strong arms, to whisper in her ear that she was safe and that Haldor's shadow could never touch her again. He would protect her, she knew it; he would take away her nightmares and be the father that Hammel and Haiweth needed.

Miserably Gúthwyn folded her arms across her stomach, wishing that when she returned to the Golden Hall it would be to enter the chambers she shared with Borogor. As much as she tried to delude herself, she was confronted again and again by the terrible reality: her room was empty, her bed cold. Gúthwyn mulled over the last point, at length reflecting that she would not mind sleeping with Borogor so long as she did not have to make love to him.

_He would not force me to,_ she affirmed to herself, drawing equal comfort and torment from the thought of every day waking up in his arms.

"Gúthwyn!"

Éomund's daughter jumped, nearly tripping over herself as she whirled around to face Haldor.

"Did I startle you?" he asked worriedly, drawing closer to her. She flinched. "That was not my intent."

_Legolas_, Gúthwyn reminded herself, taking a deep breath and briefly closing her eyes. _Legolas, not Haldor._

When she looked back up, the Elf had knit his brow and was observing her carefully. "No, not at all," she said quickly. "I was merely wrapped up in my thoughts. I hope you were not trying to get my attention for long."

Each lie felt like it was a small pebble being placed on her heart, accumulating by the thousands and weighing her down until she was ready to collapse under the strain.

"Nay, I only called once," Legolas responded, falling into step beside her.

Gúthwyn mumbled something to the effect of "good" and looked towards the ground, scuffing at the dirt as she walked. When she arrived back at Meduseld, she would not see Borogor, but perhaps she could spend some time with Elfwine. She had not paid as much attention to the poor child during breakfast as she should have; it was a slight that she had to make amends for. Yes, that would do—she would devote her love to her nephew, when the man to whom she would have given it was dead.

"Is everything all right?" Legolas inquired then, drawing her from her thoughts.

"What? Oh—oh, yes, I am fine," Gúthwyn fibbed, nervously twisting the fingers of her free hand. She had left her water gourd at the training grounds, she realized, but she would not go back for it now.

"Do you always lie when asked that question?" A smile crossed Legolas's face as he spoke, yet his eyes showed concern when they met hers. Embarrassed, Gúthwyn said nothing. While her answer had not been very convincing in the first place, she had never liked being read by anyone other than Borogor and Cobryn. Was her weakness that ill-concealed?

When she remained quiet, Legolas attempted to extract some kind of response. "What grudge do you have against Prince Faramir?" he queried, lowering his voice as they passed a cluster of Eorlingas.

"Was it so obvious as to draw the attention of others?" Gúthwyn wanted to know, feeling somewhat anxious in spite of her dull tone. What if Éowyn heard about the animalistic nature of her duel with Faramir? The tale certainly did not reflect well upon Éomund's youngest daughter.

Her dread increased after Legolas admitted, "I feared for his life when you had your sword at his throat."

Gúthwyn groaned. "I should not have gotten so carried away." That was the truth—now the falsehoods ensued. "It was a friendly duel between Faramir and I, nothing more. I confess that perhaps I am somewhat jealous that Éowyn calls his home her own rather than Rohan, and some of that must have shown in our exchange. It is no serious grievance."

Legolas raised an eyebrow, clearly not believing her.

"Really," Gúthwyn insisted, wondering why she even bothered. In order to have an excuse to not look at the Elf, she reached up and took out the tie pulling her hair back from her face. Dark locks spilled out of their constraint, reminding her with a grimace that she desperately needed a trim.

An image suddenly flashed into her mind of herself kissing Borogor, his hands gently running through her hair.

_Stop it!_ Gúthwyn ordered herself, turning away quickly so that Legolas would not see her distressed expression. She could not think of Borogor, not now, not in front of the Elf.

But it was too late. "Are you sure you are fine?" Legolas queried, a slight pause before the last word.

Flustered, Gúthwyn found herself blabbering incoherently as she fumbled to both make an excuse and change the subject. "Yes, I am fine, really… it has been a long day, some of Faramir's men… well, it does not matter, what is done is done. I wonder where Hammel has gone? He was in Cobryn's class, but after that… well, he never really tells me what he does with his time, for all I know he…"

Her face was reddening as she spoke, and to her utmost mortification she discovered that a lump was forming in her throat. She hated living like this, constantly forced to lie so that the horrors of her past would remain concealed. More than anything she wanted someone to understand her, like Borogor alone had, and someone who did not need any explanations for her behavior. If Éomer knew what had happened to her six years ago, he would never have pressured her into a marriage with Elphir, nor would he have been bewildered as to why she was so upset today.

"Gúthwyn—"

Éomund's daughter was spared further interrogation by two young boys literally running into her. Having darted around a throng of people before her, they did not provide more than a second's warning; only Legolas's quick reflexes kept her from being knocked over. He was able to steady her and return her to her former upright position, though the children were not as fortunate.

From somewhere in the tangled heap of limbs and wooden swords that fell to her feet, Gúthwyn heard, "Sorry, my lady! We did not mean to—oof—Alwyn, stop elbowing me! We did not mean to—_Alwyn, that's my face!_"

When at last the boys had straightened themselves out, Heahtor and Haiweth's friend Alwyn were revealed to be the culprits. In spite of her mood, Gúthwyn giggled at the sight of them, their noses covered in dirt and their hair full of what looked suspiciously like hay.

"What are you two doing?" she inquired as they sheepishly stood up.

"Dueling," Alwyn replied, sneaking an awed glance at Legolas. "_I_ am winning," he added importantly.

"Are not!" the younger Heahtor indignantly exclaimed. "_I_ am winning," he whispered conspiratorially to Gúthwyn.

Éomund's daughter barely managed to keep a straight face as she said, "Well, carry on, then."

After a second apology, the boys scampered away, chasing each other with their weapons. When they were out of sight, Gúthwyn turned back to Legolas. "Thank you," she said, blushing. As embarrassing as it had been for him to have to catch her, it would have been a thousand times worse if he had not.

The Elf made a gesture, as if to say that such gratitude was not necessary. "Are you hurt?" he inquired. "Those children were running swiftly."

Éomund's daughter could already feel her chin throbbing—Alwyn's head had knocked against it when they collided—but she was not about to inform Legolas of something so trivial. "No, I am not," she replied, brushing herself off. "I hope they do not—"

Just then, an indignant shriek cut through the air. Gúthwyn recognized the voice to be that of Wífled, one of the few friends she still had within the washing circles of Edoras. The boys' apologies were drowned out by what sounded like an utterly thorough scolding. Gúthwyn did not know whether to be amused or to pity Heahtor and his comrade.

"I should have warned them that others would be less forgiving," she told Legolas as they resumed their course. They were nearing the Golden Hall; Gúthwyn could identify the two guards as Ceorl and Eanwulf. "I pray Wífled does not give them too harsh a reprimand."

Legolas smiled at her remark. Only a few minutes later, Heahtor and Alwyn scurried by, looking decidedly shamefaced yet none the worse for wear—save for the absence of their wooden blades. By this point, Gúthwyn and Legolas were merely yards away from Meduseld. They watched in amusement, and no small amount of curiosity, as the boys took the stairs two at a time and began pestering the guards. Ceorl and Eanwulf appeared to be ignoring them.

"If you are searching for your uncle, Heahtor, he is at the training grounds," Gúthwyn said as she and Legolas mounted the steps at a more sedate pace.

Heahtor shook his head, but Alwyn's seniority (by perhaps three years) gave him the privilege of speaking first. "Wífled took our swords away," the other boy answered, "so we decided to play with Haiweth… and _they_ will not let us in."

He turned around and cast what Gúthwyn could only imagine to be a ferocious glare at the guards.

"They are no threat," Éomund's daughter said with a smile to Ceorl and Eanwulf. "I am sure Haiweth would be delighted to see them."

Ceorl shifted on his feet, glancing at the doors. "The king is having a meeting and does not wish to be disturbed."

"Oh?" Gúthwyn blinked; Éomer normally informed her when he was holding council, for he often requested that she watch Elfwine during those intervals. She was surprised he had not done so today. "Well, Heahtor, Alwyn, I shall go inside and—"

"I must admit, my lady," Eanwulf uncharacteristically interrupted her, "we were not expecting you to return from the training grounds so soon."

Gúthwyn's face briefly clouded at the memory of her duel with Faramir, but just as quickly she concealed her emotions. "I decided to retire early," she explained simply. "Now, if you will excuse—"

"Who was there?" Ceorl wanted to know, his eyes once again darting towards the doors. He seemed rather pale.

"The usual group," Gúthwyn responded, confused. "Ceorl, are you feeling well?"

"What? Oh, yes, my lady, of course—there you are, Cobryn!" Ceorl's voice was laden with relief.

Gúthwyn smiled when she saw her friend emerging from the Golden Hall, and could not resist teasing him. "Should you not be with Éomer, boring him to death about an account of the livestock in the East-mark?"

Cobryn made a show of heaving a long-suffering sigh, though first he acknowledged Legolas with a nod. "Unfortunately, my scintillating anecdotes about sheep-shearing were not needed today. Have you already finished sparring?"

"Yes, I have," Gúthwyn said, wondering why everyone kept reminding her of the one place she was trying to avoid. In an effort to bring the conversation back to Heahtor and Alwyn, who were practically quivering with impatience, she asked, "Is Haiweth in her room? She has visitors."

"Oh—" Cobryn looked taken aback. "No," he recovered quickly, "she is not. She just went outside half an hour ago."

Heahtor and Alwyn pouted, then realized that this meant Haiweth was somewhere nearby and scrambled off to find her.

"Well," Cobryn said—was it Gúthwyn's imagination, or when she stepped closer to the doors did he move so that he was barring her way?—"I have found myself with an unforeseen surplus of free time this afternoon. Would you care to join me for a ride?"

Gúthwyn nodded happily. "Of course!" she exclaimed, knowing that with her friend's duties as an advisor, an opportunity like this came along barely once a month. "I would love to, I just need to put this—" She gestured to her sword, intending to bring it to her chambers, but Cobryn swiftly intervened.

"I can take that for you," he offered: "I need to change into more suitable clothes. Perhaps you should go ahead—I heard one of the stableboys mentioning that Sceoh has been edgier than usual today."

"Really?" Gúthwyn raised an eyebrow. She and Éowyn had just gone for a ride yesterday, and while naturally jittery in the presence of an unfamiliar rider, Éomund's youngest daughter thought he had adapted remarkably well. Nevertheless, Sceoh's anxiety fluctuated on nearly a daily basis—it was not unheard of for him to be so suddenly skittish. "I think I will, then." Whenever Sceoh was frightened of something, he always needed extra time to be coaxed out of his stall, and she did not want to keep Cobryn waiting.

Her friend smiled when she handed Framwine to him, for he had noted her hesitancy, regardless of how minimal. "I shall take good care of your blade," he promised laughingly. "It will be returned, safe and sound, to your quarters."

"You will be hunted down otherwise," Gúthwyn mock threatened, and then turned to Legolas. Guiltily, she realized she had been neglecting him for the better part of the past two minutes. "Forgive me," she said, flushing. "I did not mean to exclude you. Thank you for walking with me."

"Think nothing of it," Legolas replied firmly. "Cobryn, my friend, I will accompany you inside."

Cobryn nodded his head in acquiescence. The two of them bid farewell to Gúthwyn, who bit her tongue as she watched them go—even though, for the briefest moment, she had had the urge to warn Cobryn against such proximity to an Elf. Swallowing the impulse, she instead turned and went down the stairs, heading towards the stables and what promised to be a better afternoon than what she had been having so far.

* * *

><p>As soon as Gúthwyn left, Legolas looked at the others. Cobryn saw the prince arch an eyebrow as he inquired, "May I ask why all of you were so determined to keep her out of her home?"<p>

Ceorl and Eanwulf flushed sheepishly; Cobryn inwardly groaned and prayed that the sentinels had not been as obvious as he was now suspecting. "Éomer and Éowyn are planning a feast in honor of Gúthwyn and Elfwine's birthdays," he explained. "They want to surprise her, so I must request your cooperation in keeping this a secret."

"It is given," the Elf replied, "though if you continue to conceal it like you did just now, she may figure it out on her own."

Cobryn grinned, knowing he had the better measure of his friend than Legolas did. "The beauty of it is, she will not—even with these two on the job." He shot a look at the guards, both of whom coughed discreetly and stared determinedly at the street as if they could not hear him. "She trusts us all too much to suspect anything; it is a habit I have advised her to break, but clearly without any success." He noticed Legolas's expression. "You seem skeptical."

"It was quite apparent that something was amiss," Legolas admitted.

"I can assure you that there is nothing to worry about," Cobryn said, "so long as the most blatant of clues are not thrust before her."

Legolas still appeared rather disbelieving, but chose not to comment. With all the confidence of someone in the right, Cobryn smiled and motioned for the guards to open one of the doors. The burden of Framwine in one hand and a useless leg on the other side meant that he did not have sufficient leverage to pull something so heavy without making a fool of himself, so on the whole he thought it was best to have someone else do the job.

When he and Legolas stepped inside the throne room, several heads snapped up worriedly and then visibly relaxed when they saw whom the intruders were.

"Is she gone?" Éowyn asked, beginning to unroll a piece of parchment she had been in the process of hastily putting away. They had been alerted of Gúthwyn's coming a few minutes ago, when Ceorl had opened the door and announced that she and Legolas were dangerously close to the Golden Hall. Cobryn knew he should have been quicker to intercept her, but his leg had objected to swift movement and he had almost been too late.

"I warded her off, but I will now be going with her on a ride, so I can no longer partake in this discussion," he now answered. "As soon as I have put her sword away, I shall meet her at the stables."

"Thank you," Éomer said in relief, putting aside the work papers he had pulled in front of him as a ruse in the event that his baby sister should get past the guards. In their place, he drew up the plans for the festivities. "I am astounded that she has returned from the training grounds so early; it is barely three hours past noon!"

"She seemed rather upset today at breakfast," Lothíriel remarked, stroking Elfwine's hair. The child in her lap was playing with a toy horse, and did not even glance up when his mother spoke.

Cobryn hid his disdain at the sight of the queen affecting concern for her rival, when only a few hours ago she had connived to rob Gúthwyn of time spent with her nephew. After lunch, Éomer had suggested asking his youngest sister to watch over Elfwine during the meeting, which would have taking both of them off of the siblings' hands, but Lothíriel had discouraged such a decision. It was evident why she had done so: Elfwine had spent nearly the entire previous day in his aunt's company, and the queen was furious that she should be so neglected in favor of Gúthwyn.

"Legolas, you are welcome to take Cobryn's place," Éowyn offered. "We are in need of some help deciding on the entertainment, for we do not have the time to hire anyone."

"I shall assist you as well as I am able," Legolas promised, crossing the room to join the royal family. With his own damn leg keeping easy movement a tantalizing impossibility, Cobryn marveled at how elegantly Legolas performed the simple act of walking. The Elf's feet made no sound upon the floor as they carried his slender form to the bench, which he lowered himself onto with all the grace of his kind. Cobryn had always admired this Elven quality, though he had precious few opportunities to observe the fair race.

_Ah well,_ he thought, remembering his promise to return Gúthwyn's sword to her room. There was no point in wishing that his motions would ever regain their former fluidity, let alone that of an Elf's.

When he entered Gúthwyn's chambers, he went to the chest where she kept Framwine in the unlikely company of her finest gowns and put the blade in storage. He had crouched down to do so, and as he closed the trunk he happened to glance up and see a piece of parchment sticking out of the drawer in Gúthwyn's nightstand. From this distance, he could tell it was one of Haiweth's sketches, and he smiled as he straightened and went over to put it away.

Opening the drawer to release the paper, he stopped short when he realized that this was not a picture Gúthwyn would have wanted him to stumble upon. It was a surprisingly good likeness of his friend, who was in the background yet undeniably the focus of the drawing. Cobryn knitted his brow as he gazed at the image of Gúthwyn, who was holding hands with a man he had never seen before.

_The man she loves,_ he thought to himself, examining the stranger more closely. While Haiweth still had much to learn in terms of technique, she had the remarkable ability of transferring emotion to parchment. The two adults before him were all but basking in contentment; Gúthwyn was leaning slightly against the man's shoulder, her face glowing. Cobryn was reminded of Elessar as he scrutinized the source of his friend's happiness: the two men had similar builds and coloring. Aragorn, however, was certainly older, whereas Gúthwyn's lover appeared to be closer to Cobryn's age.

At length the advisor remembered that Gúthwyn was waiting for him at the stables, and imagining what her expression would be if she caught him here he quickly placed Haiweth's picture back in the drawer. Closing it firmly, he took one last look around him and left. He was so preoccupied as he shut the door behind him that he never noticed the approaching maid, and only when she indiscreetly _hem_ed did he become aware of her presence.

"Good afternoon, my lord," Wífwen said sweetly, dipping into as shallow a curtsy as she could manage. She had a basket of bedding in her hands. "Is my lady ready for her sheets to be changed, or shall I wait for a few minutes until she calls me in?"

Cobryn had never hit a female, save to deliver Gúthwyn from the throes of hysteria, yet he felt sorely tempted to do so now. Knowing fully well that this time tomorrow a scandalous tale of his transgressions would be circulating around Edoras, he curtly replied, "She is grooming her horse at the stables." (Simply giving the location without the activity would only provide Wífwen with ample opportunity to insinuate whatever she wanted.) With flashing eyes, he added, "You had best learn to curb your insolence, woman."

"I beg your pardon," Wífwen said insincerely, her own gaze sparkling.

Irked, Cobryn stalked away. He was angry at both himself for not taking the initiative to inform Éomer of the female servants' behavior—which he would have done in a heartbeat if he had not wanted to protect Gúthwyn from the true nature of the hatred Lothíriel had marshaled against her—and at his friend for refusing to do so even when she was prompted. This was one storm they were stuck weathering, regardless of the consequences.

* * *

><p>It was almost midnight.<p>

Silence reigned in the Golden Hall, casting its thick blanket upon the royal family and their visitors. Had the Elves not been sleeping in the throne room in plain sight, an intruder might have guessed that he had entered a deserted dwelling. As it were, an argument between the king's sisters had driven all to retire early. Though neither of Éomund's daughters knew it, they were the only ones awake; and yet they lay quietly, without a sound.

_I hate Faramir,_ Gúthwyn thought miserably, curled into a tiny ball in the corner of her bed. A trail of tears led down her cheeks and onto her pillow, having nothing to do with the crime Faramir had committed six years ago and everything to do with the crime he was committing now. _I hate what he has done to Éowyn and I._

Thanks to the Steward, Éowyn loathed her. Sometime during the late afternoon, the White Lady had gone outside and heard rumor of what had transpired between her husband and her sister on the training grounds. The soldiers of Edoras told her that they had feared for Faramir's life, that Gúthwyn had turned nearly mad with hatred. The Rangers said that Éomund's youngest daughter had insulted their lord and openly provoked him to combat.

Furious, Éowyn had stormed into Gúthwyn's chambers right before dinner and demanded an explanation. Unable to provide one, Gúthwyn had not even tried, and bowed her head to the enraged tirade that spewed forth from her elder sibling. "Why do you despise my husband so much?" Éowyn had hissed, her features scarlet with anger. "Why do you go out of your way to spurn him? What has he ever done to you?"

It was only when Gúthwyn, overwhelmed by Éowyn's loathing, succumbed to bitter tears that the White Lady had at last given up and stalked away in disgust. A few minutes later, a terrified Mildwen had informed Éomer that his baby sister would not be joining him for his evening meal, and no amount of persuasion could convince her otherwise.

Unlike Éowyn, Éomer had been somewhat sympathetic to her position. "Are you still upset that you no longer see her as often as you would like?" he had asked over and over again as he sat in Gúthwyn's room, struggling to determine the source of the rift between his siblings. "You should not blame Faramir, it is the natural course of life for a woman to make her husband's abode her new residence. You would have done the same, had you married Elphir."

"That is not the point!" Gúthwyn had cried irritably, her face half-buried in her pillow.

"Then what is?" Éomer had countered.

Gúthwyn could not come up with an answer. At length, Éomer had left her to her own devices, but with the implication that he was disappointed in her for neither admitting her wrong nor confiding in him. She was not worried about his reaction—he was incapable of holding a grudge against her for more than a day. It was Éowyn she was terrified of, or specifically the possibility that her older sister would never want to speak to her again.

And here she was now, thoroughly miserable, a constant nausea gripping her belly. Unable to leave her quarters—Legolas was outside, and she could not face him tonight—she had suffered several panic attacks in rapid succession, leaving her dizzy with fear. She half-expected Éowyn to burst in at any moment, yelling at her for her behavior and ordering her to reconcile with Faramir.

_Please let them go back to Emyn Arnen,_ Gúthwyn prayed, though the Valar had been listening to her less than usual lately. A week ago, she never would have thought that she would be wishing Éowyn to leave Rohan, but now she outright hoped that her sister would depart before the breach between them grew even wider. She longed for the days when she and Éowyn had confided in each other all of their secrets, when she had not yet been captured and taken away from her family.

When her mind returned to her twelfth birthday, Gúthwyn found herself fast-forwarding through events until she reached Mordor, until she reached Borogor. She allowed herself to imagine them sleeping together in their tent, her back fitting perfectly against his chest, but such a picture made her throat constrict. Reaching out as if to touch him, she sighed when her fingers only met air.

Why did she torture herself like this? Why could she not set the past aside? She knew Borogor was forever lost; why did she persist in envisioning a future in which he was not? There were other people in her life to keep her from thinking of the ones who were not, and yet she neglected them in favor of the ghosts from her past. Everything she had done today had been under the influence of maddening recollections, all of them concerning Borogor.

_Better to remember Borogor than Haldor,_ a stubborn part of her insisted, and such was her despair that she did not even shudder at the acknowledgment of the latter.

She wondered if Borogor was watching her now, if his spirit was guiding her from the Halls of Mandos where mortals lingered after their deaths. If it were, what would he think of her now, a pathetic little figure who cried when her older sister grew angry with her? What would he do if he were at her side? Would he gently stroke her hair, press soft kisses on her skin? Caress her without threat, whisper away her sadness?

Gúthwyn groaned and rolled over, as if trying to shake off the idea, but it was too late. Borogor had joined her in her bed, his strong arms wrapping around her and drawing her towards him. She struggled to resist the fantasy and yet she did not desire it to end, for that would mean him leaving her. She yearned for the sensation of his lips brushing against the back of her neck, for the feeling of his hands on her bare flesh—he would know where he could touch her, where contact would be welcome.

Gradually, Gúthwyn's daydream faded into the realm of sleep. Her breathing, once uneven and hysterical, became steady; the creases faded from her brow as her muscles relaxed, surrendering her body to the blissful realm of the unconscious. Éowyn and Faramir's faces disappeared from her mind, yet Borogor's remained as clear as it ever was.

_I love you,_ was the last thing Éomund's youngest daughter said before all turned black.


	8. Happy Birthday VII

**Chapter Eight**

"Gúthy!"

Éomund's daughter stirred, feebly lifting a hand over her head to ward off the morning sunlight. She thought she had heard Elfwine, but that was impossible, because she was in her room—sleeping, as a matter of fact. Dismissing the voice as something her mind had made up to tease her, and perhaps even lure her from her slumber, Gúthwyn curled into a tighter ball and clutched her pillow.

"Gúthy, up! Up!"

A warm weight draped itself across her side, inexplicably whacking her on the shoulder. "Gúthy," it whined, pushing at her insistently. "No sleep!"

Against her will, Gúthwyn felt her eyelids fluttering open, and she craned her neck to see what was on top of her. The second her gaze fell upon her nephew, assuredly _not_ a figment of her imagination, she gave a small gasp.

"Little one!" she exclaimed, now wide awake. "What are you doing here?"

_More importantly, how did you get here?_ she added silently, glancing at the door. Then she remembered: she had not closed it because Haiweth had had a nightmare, and she wanted to emphasize the fact that the girl was more than welcome to come see her if she had troubles falling asleep afterwards. Elfwine must have crawled in and used the trunk at the foot of her bed as a stepping (or, more accurately, climbing) stool to get to her.

Gleefully, her nephew clambered over her and burrowed himself into the nest of blankets she had made. "My birthday," he announced proudly, snatching at her hair.

"Oh, little one, happy birthday," Gúthwyn murmured, propping herself up on an elbow and kissing him on the brow. "How does it feel to be two?"

Elfwine giggled, not yet understanding the concept of emotions. "Your birthday," he added, looking pleased to have retained this information. "We shares birthday."

Overwhelmed by a sudden surge of adoration for the toddler in front of her, Gúthwyn could only acknowledge the merest sense of unease. She was not sick yet, but there were plenty of other opportunities for the Valar to mar the day. _Please, do not ruin it for Elfwine,_ she begged silently, drawing the boy into her arms and hugging him. _I would rather have the worst birthday of my life than let him be harmed._

"There you are!"

Gúthwyn and Elfwine both looked up to see Éomer entering the room, his expression torn between exasperation and amusement. "You little rascal," he admonished his son while crossing the room, "I turn my back for one moment and you run off to go pester your aunt!"

"I do not mind," Gúthwyn replied truthfully as Elfwine laughed at his father. "He is more than welcome to pester me whenever he wants. How are you today, brother?"

"Excellent," Éomer said, bending over and kissing her on the brow, "but enough about me. Happy birthday, baby sister."

"Thank you." Gúthwyn smiled, raising herself to a sitting position. Elfwine climbed exuberantly onto her lap and she ruffled his hair, comforted by his presence.

"Gúthy mine," Elfwine reminded both of them, in case they had forgotten.

"I know," Éomer murmured wearily before turning to Gúthwyn. "Did he wake you up?"

"No," Gúthwyn lied, not wanting her brother to feel guilty when, in fact, she had not minded at all that Elfwine had taken a job so often relegated to Cobryn. At least her nephew did not have a cane with which he could prod her awake.

Éomer was not fooled. "It is four hours to noon," he pointed out; "you are never up this early. I was about to rouse you from bed myself, for we are going to have breakfast and then ride out."

"I will get dressed and join you soon," Gúthwyn promised, still not admitting her nephew's culpability. "Is everyone else up?"

"Yes," Éomer said. "Indeed, Éowyn and Faramir have already saddled their horses."

At the mention of her sister, Gúthwyn felt a twinge of anxiety. She and Éowyn had been on chilly terms since their argument six days ago, and for the most part had avoided each other's company. Lothíriel had taken advantage of the situation to monopolize more of Éowyn's time, something that had troubled Gúthwyn until she realized that all the queen's attempts at intimacy were being politely, yet firmly, rebuffed. Despite their current falling-out, the White Lady had not forgotten the reprimand her sister had received from Lothíriel when their nephew was misbehaving. Quite simply, she did not trust their brother's wife.

Éomer noted the strained expression on Gúthwyn's face, but did not appear to know what to say. His position was awkward at best: in addition to being caught in the middle as the brother of both parties, he also had to walk a tightrope between his guests and a sister whose emotional health was a constant source of worry.

"Well," he at length spoke, "Elfwine and I will leave you to get dressed. Come, son."

Elfwine looked back and forth between his father and his aunt, evidently pained at the thought of having to choose. "Papa, I stay!" he tried.

"No, you are not," Éomer told him.

"Yes, I is!" Elfwine insisted adamantly.

"Go on, little one," Gúthwyn encouraged him. "I shall see you in a few minutes, I promise."

"No go!" Elfwine protested, but in vain. Rolling his eyes, Éomer motioned for Gúthwyn to hand him over, which she did—though not without difficulty. As soon as he realized what was happening, Elfwine tried desperately to grab her, each of his attempts spurned by his father. "Gúthy!" he wailed mournfully as Éomer carried him away. Éomund's daughter waved, and then smiled when the door closed and she heard her nephew badgering to be set down.

Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, Gúthwyn got to her feet and started preparing herself for the day. Since it would be difficult at best to carry out the upcoming activities in skirts, she donned leggings and a tunic, then a light riding dress for propriety's—well, Éomer's—sake. She would have preferred to go without, but she knew Éowyn would be wearing a gown for the trip and her brother would want her to follow suit.

After putting a spare change of clothes in her pack, along with a water canteen and some bandages in case of emergency, she left the room, humming a tune as she went. Although she had by no means lowered her guard, she hoped that today would not be as terrible as she had been dreading. For one thing, she was not yet sick; for another, she would be surrounded by family and friends.

She was about to enter the great hall when someone rounded the corner and stepped directly into her path. Gúthwyn's thoughts had drifted to Hammel and Haiweth, slowing her reflexes; she walked right into the intruder and then tripped over her hem when she leaped away in silent apology. Elfwine's cry of "Leggy, come back!" was the only thing she heard before she looked up and saw the prince.

"Happy birthday," Legolas said, too quickly for her to stammer out that she had not been paying attention to where she was going.

"Oh—thank you," she answered, surprised that he had remembered. Then again, she supposed it was hard to forget after last year, when he had visited her while she was sick to her stomach with fever. Not to mention, of course, the fact that she had just received Elphir's rejection; _that_, if nothing else, had certainly made the occasion memorable.

"I should not keep you," Legolas spoke, inclining his head. "Elfwine would be furious if he knew I was delaying your reunion."

Gúthwyn blushed, though her heart was happily melting in a little pool somewhere inside of her. "He is a handful," she murmured, half to herself. Then she added, more audibly, "He seems to have taken an attachment to you, as well."

Legolas chuckled. "As you have said, he was aptly named."

"Papa, _want Gúthy!_"

Elfwine's distinctive voice rose above Gúthwyn and Legolas's conversation; with a grin, the former excused herself and hurried off to relieve Éomer from the squalling in his ears. Her appearance in the throne room partially worked: Elfwine stopped demanding her presence, but made such a racket upon seeing her that she was afraid her plan had backfired.

Luckily, at length the young heir consented to sit quietly in his father's arms, so long as his aunt was in plain sight. Gúthwyn sat across from him, next to Hammel and Haiweth and not too far from Cobryn.

"Happy birthday!" Haiweth promptly exclaimed, leaning over and hugging her. Gúthwyn returned the embrace, glad that at least one of her children was still affectionate.

"Happy birthday," Hammel echoed over Haiweth's head, perhaps choosing that moment so that Gúthwyn's arms would be full and she could not physically express her gratitude.

Brushing the half-formed accusation from her mind, Gúthwyn smiled and said, "Thank you, both of you."

Cobryn also wished her a happy birthday; she grinned and made sure to thank him emphatically, for recently his reputation had been dealt yet another blow on her behalf. Earlier in the week, rumors had begun swirling that he had been once more seen coming out of her chambers, this time in broad daylight. _The nerve_, scandalized young women hissed at each other as he walked by, _so openly soliciting the king's sister!_ They were often quick to add, _Not that Lady Gúthwyn has many scruples herself._

"My friend," she asked him, smiling as she thought of what the gossipers would say about her following question, "are you to tear yourself away from your work and join us today?"

Cobryn smirked. "As you will no doubt be shocked to hear, I have relieved myself of duties for the present and shall gladly accompany you on this excursion."

Gúthwyn made a show of letting her mouth drop open. "What is this?" she teased. "Cobryn going for a whole day without reading a report about sheep?"

"Do not worry," he replied with a perfectly straight face, "I consulted one while you were still abed."

Gúthwyn rolled her eyes. Unfortunately, it was unlikely that her friend was being sarcastic.

"Sheep are so boring," Haiweth muttered.

Breakfast was a quick affair. Gúthwyn ate enough so that Éomer was satisfied, and was only feeling slightly queasy when they left the table. Luckily, the fresh air outside dispersed such nausea, and by the time they entered the stables her mind was no longer on her uncomfortably stretched stomach. As a matter of fact, it was rudely jolted to worse thoughts when she opened the door and almost walked right into Faramir.

The two of them stepped back so swiftly that they risked bumping against the people behind them—in his case, Éowyn; in her case, Éomer. There was a tense silence. Éowyn stared accusingly over Faramir's shoulder as if ordering Gúthwyn to be the first to break it, yet Éomund's youngest daughter did not speak and merely stepped to the side with a nod.

"Forgive me," Faramir said quietly, also moving out of their previously shared path. For the past few days he had avoided her, even holding up his agreement to not return to the training grounds. Yet now he met her eyes directly, and Gúthwyn thought she saw a trace of pity within his gaze: that she childishly clung onto her grudge against him, and that he would wait until she had grown up.

As Éomer and the others filed past her, Lothíriel shifting Elfwine so that he could not reach his aunt, Gúthwyn ground her teeth together and said in a voice of forced civility, "Do not trouble yourself. There was no harm done."

The furious storm that had been gathering on Éowyn's face broke. In its place, a grateful—if still wary—smile. Gúthwyn forced her pride down her throat, noting how difficult it was to swallow, and continued, "I wish you had joined us for breakfast."

There were some people to whom she could not lie. Éowyn was normally one of them, but perhaps out of a desire to simply make amends the White Lady did not appear to even doubt the sincerity of this statement. "We wanted to groom our horses first," she explained, and then reached over to embrace Gúthwyn. "Happy birthday, sister!"

"Thank you," Gúthwyn replied, barely resisting the urge to glare at Faramir while Éowyn was not looking. Luckily for her, Elfwine intervened before she had the chance to do so.

"Son, get back here!" Éomer shouted, causing everyone to start and check the straw around their feet for fear of tripping over the little heir. Elfwine ignored his father, gleefully darting around the panicked stableboys in his quest for the open door to Firefoot's stall.

"Horse!" he shrieked ecstatically, pointing. "Papa, horse!"

"Silly Elfwine," Gúthwyn scolded him a second later, having abandoned Éowyn to rush over and scoop her nephew up before he had a chance to disturb Firefoot. Exceedingly well-trained, Firefoot knew better than to trample children—though naturally had no such inhibitions about Orcs—yet on the whole Gúthwyn preferred caution to chance. "How many times has your father told you, little one," she admonished him as he reached angrily for the battle horse, "not to go into the animals' stalls?"

"I want," Elfwine pouted, but agreed to be taken away from Firefoot.

"Were you not holding him?" Éomer asked Lothíriel when his son was safely in his arms.

Gúthwyn did not dare listen to Lothíriel's response, not when the queen's eyes were flashing in a way that indicated it was somehow her rival's fault for this latest mishap. She was thoroughly acquainted with that expression: steer clear, or else. She chose the former and walked over to Sceoh's stall, intending to give him some time to readjust to her presence before they set out.

"Hello, my friend," she greeted him quietly, slipping inside. "Are you ready for an adventure?"

It was a foolish question. Sceoh was never ready for an adventure, particularly one that involved many people. Gúthwyn knew that today would be trying for him, and she would have her hands full keeping him calm. Because the royal family was venturing outside the city walls, several guards had been recruited to escort them—and that was to say nothing of Faramir and Éowyn's guard, nor indeed of Legolas and the Elves who had insisted on accompanying him.

Gúthwyn sighed. As much as she was looking forward to the outing, she wished that the Elves and Faramir's men had not been invited. Yet who was she to complain? Éomer had evidently gone to great lengths to arrange this for her, and it was ungracious of her to find fault in his work. Literally biting her tongue, she resolved to do so figuratively as well. Nothing unkind would fall from her lips today.

A sudden fresh breeze broke through the musty stable air, causing her to glance up. For an instant, she stiffened; then she heard Elfwine's shriek of excitement and told herself to relax. Legolas had entered the stables, followed by a small retinue of Elves. Gúthwyn counted and saw that about half of them were there, including Raniean. She raised an eyebrow at this, wondering why the aloof Elf would deign to socialize so intimately with mortals.

Returning to her routine with Sceoh, Gúthwyn continued preparing him, ever so often lifting her head to check on the children. Although horses and Hammel were too wary around each other to have a fond relationship, Éomer had obtained for the boy a mare who tolerated him even in his fouler moods. Neither Hammel nor Haiweth were wholly adept at managing their steeds; Haiweth could not control hers at a pace much faster than a canter, and she tended to fret when she had to guide the animal back into its stall.

Alas, some things were not meant to be. The children were not to be blamed for their lack of expertise when they had not been taught how to ride until they were older. It was regrettable that they had not shown more talent, but there was nothing she could do about that. She smiled sadly as Hammel went over to help his sister lift the saddle: it was a weight most Rohirrim learned to bear well before their tenth birthday.

By the time Haiweth was ready, Éomer and Lothíriel had figured out how they were going to transport Elfwine. The heir was to ride with his father, not only held in the crook of the king's arm but also bound to him with a makeshift cloth rope. Gúthwyn pitied her nephew. At first delighted to be riding a horse, Elfwine's laughter soon turned to tears when he discovered that he could not move in his new constraints.

"Want off," he begged Éomer, kicking ineffectively at the saddle. "No more!"

It tore Gúthwyn's heart to see him so miserable, and judging by his expression Éomer also was not pleased with the necessary protective measure. Yet Elfwine was the heir to Rohan, and his safety could not be jeopardized. Although Théoden had kept a close watch on her in her younger days, namely due to her penchant for troublemaking, she was glad that she had not required such security as Elfwine now did.

"It is not so bad, little one," she tried to reassure him, mounting Sceoh and guiding him out towards Firefoot. "Your papa is right with you, see?"

Elfwine glared, and would have folded his arms across his chest if Éomer's had not prevented him from doing so. Gúthwyn sighed, and shrugged at her brother as if to say, _I tried_.

"How long is the ride?" Haiweth asked, coming up alongside her. "Are we going to the same place as we did last time?" The mare she was seated upon sniffed at Sceoh, who shied away in response. Gúthwyn quickly pulled him back, needing him to be under her control in the cramped quarters of the stables. The sooner they left, the better; however, her siblings, Faramir, and Éowyn were ahead of them, and she would have to wait her turn.

"We shall be out on the plains for a little more than an hour," she informed Haiweth while they idled, slowly inching forward as the procession moved out of the stables. "And yes, we will be returning to where we went two years ago." While Lothíriel was still resting from her labor, Éomer had taken Gúthwyn and the children to the Snowbourn in a belated celebration of her birthday. There, Hammel and Haiweth had learned how to tread water, although neither had gotten much further than a few laborious strokes afterwards.

Haiweth frowned. "What if I forget how to swim?" she asked, biting her lip.

"I am sure you will not," Gúthwyn replied confidently, smiling at her. "But if you need a reminder, we can always practice in the shallow water."

"Good," Haiweth said, relieved. "Hammel might need help, too."

Gúthwyn turned and caught a glimpse of the boy glaring furiously at his sister, his pupils black with embarrassment and anger. She shot him a warning look, trying to ignore the way his expression chilled her to the bone, and was rewarded when he lowered his gaze to his horse. When she faced forwards again, she felt his eyes boring into the back of her neck.

At length, everyone gathered outside in a large group. Remaining close to Hammel and Haiweth, as well as Cobryn—who was right next to her, at her joking request openly provoking gossip—Gúthwyn surveyed the company. Towards the head of the cavalcade were Éomer, Lothíriel, and Elfwine, each appearing distinctly disgruntled. Just behind them were several guards, including Elfhelm and Erkenbrand. Gúthwyn knew Tun was not among the warriors but searched anyway, part of her hoping that at the last minute he had changed his mind and decided to go. She had invited both him and Brithwen, yet the offer had been politely declined and she suspected that Tun had not had much of a choice in the matter.

Telling herself that she could not blame Brithwen for something any sensible wife would do, Gúthwyn wrenched her mind from her champion and continued examining her present surroundings. From her position, she could see that Éowyn and Faramir had separated themselves from the Steward's men, and were quietly discussing something. Éowyn seemed distressed; Faramir's hand was running gently up and down her arm, stroking it in a comforting manner. Upon seeing them, Gúthwyn felt both repulsed and guilty: was Éowyn upset because her younger sister had not officially made amends with her husband?

Unable to bear watching Éowyn and Faramir, painfully aware that she could have had love and so much more if Borogor had not been killed, Gúthwyn glanced away. Her gaze landed on the Elves, the last third of the expedition. They had arranged themselves in a small circle, somewhat apart from the others. Éomund's daughter noticed that Haiweth was also examining Legolas's companions nervously, and she wished again for the girl's sake—not to mention her own—that Éomer had made the outing more intimate.

At that moment, Cobryn motioned for her attention. "There are some of your 'friends' from the washing circles," he said when she looked over, grinning as he made a surreptitious gesture. Gúthwyn followed the direction of movement and caught a glimpse of some young girls in the crowd whispering to each other, their gazes darting back and forth between the king's sister and advisor.

"It is clearly a scandal for a woman to be seen in broad daylight with a male companion," Gúthwyn responded, rolling her eyes, "especially when her brother is a mere twenty feet away. Had I known I was committing such an offense, I never would have set foot from my home."

"Tomorrow we shall no doubt hear tales of us slipping off to an unoccupied stretch of the riverbank, courtesy of your brother's wife," Cobryn replied, his tone one of jest but also of warning.

Gúthwyn had long ago ceased caring what Lothíriel thought of her, and told her friend so. "I am not going to let her ruin this day," she vowed, lifting her chin.

"Nor should you," was Cobryn's answer.

After another minute or two of loitering around, ensuring that the guards were properly armed and that all had enough food to last until supper, they were off. As was the custom for a king's setting-out, crowds had lined the main street, waving and cheering. The occasion was even more remarkable due to the presence of the Steward of Gondor and the prince of Mirkwood; many a Rohirric child looked past the faces of the royal family they saw daily and instead gaped in wonder at the White Lady or the ethereal Elves.

As they rode out of Edoras, Gúthwyn could have sworn she heard Haiweth mutter to Hammel, "I do not want to go swimming. I am afraid I will drown."

"Better to drown than to have to watch _Auntie Gúthy_ moon over little _Effine_ all day," Hammel grumbled back.

"Hammel!"


	9. A Leap of Faith

**Chapter Nine**

The ride to the River Snowbourn was about as pleasant for Éomund's youngest daughter as it could be when the majority of her company were people she either loathed or feared or was not speaking to. Choosing not to remain with her family, unwilling to position herself close to either Lothíriel or Éowyn, Gúthwyn instead fell into place with the guards, and spent a merry hour conversing with her friends.

All of the men had learned to swim at an early age and were anticipating a grand-scale water battle. Gúthwyn knew this entailed purely rambunctious horseplay and indiscriminate splashing, and as a result none of the soldiers dared to openly extend an invitation to her. She was allowed to join if she wished, but it was not seemly for the men to ask her to participate in their games—especially when they would all be shirtless.

The thought of such nakedness, while nothing she had not seen before, was still sufficient to make Gúthwyn uncomfortable, and she was ill at ease to have Haiweth in the vicinity. She had to remind herself numerous times that swimming was a perfectly innocent activity, and that Lothíriel's presence would certainly keep the guards on their best behavior.

Nevertheless, as she dismounted from Sceoh at the site where they were to spend the day, Gúthwyn decided that it would be better for her to encourage Haiweth to stay with her and Elfwine. Lately, Hildeth and Wífled had been remarking that Haiweth was turning out to be a beautiful girl, something that Gúthwyn had always thought but had merely attributed to her bias as a surrogate mother. Naturally, the realization that other people were now noticing Haiweth's pretty, grey eyes and soft, golden curls was startling, and worrying insofar as "other people" might soon include men.

"Shall I take Sceoh for you, my lady?"

The voice of Breca broke in on her thoughts, and Gúthwyn mentally shook her head to clear them. "I think it will be best if I tether him," she replied, noting the way Sceoh had tensed at the young man's approach. "Thank you, though."

Breca bowed and went away, heading over to the guards. Gúthwyn looked at Sceoh and sighed. "All right, my friend, let us get you situated."

Sceoh warily followed her to where the other horses were being kept, a small cluster of trees near the bank of the river. A few of the guards were already securing their mounts, but when they saw Sceoh they hastened to finish, aware that their lady's horse was inclined to panic at the merest unfamiliarity. Only Legolas remained. At first, Gúthwyn did not see him behind the soldiers, but when they moved his presence was revealed.

She nodded at the Elf, remembering that he was one of the few who had ever succeeded in calming Sceoh. With this in mind she made her way over to him, intending to secure her stallion to a tree near Arod's.

"How is your horse?" Legolas asked as she drew near. He knew all too well how easily frightened Sceoh was, having prevented the animal from throwing Gúthwyn not more than a year ago.

"Could be better, could be worse," Gúthwyn said with a sigh. "At least he did not panic on the way here, which I half-feared he would."

"Does he trust you yet?" Legolas inquired, stroking Arod's mane. His voice was low, but the only distance between them was Sceoh's narrow girth and Gúthwyn could hear him perfectly.

"I think so," she answered after a pause. "Enough to enable me to ride him, but no more." This saddened her; she had never had such problems with Heorot, and she missed the close relationship between rider and horse that she had once enjoyed.

"That shall change," Legolas predicted. "You seemed to manage him well amongst the guards."

"Barely," Gúthwyn replied, recalling how she had always been on the fringes of the group. Her friends were displeased with this arrangement, wanting her in the middle of the formation should they be attacked—a small chance, but one that always lingered in the backs of minds that remembered the not-so-long ago War of the Ring—but Sceoh's nervousness had prevented this.

"Perhaps time is the best remedy," Legolas suggested, holding his hand out for Sceoh's examination. He murmured softly in Elvish, words that Gúthwyn could not understand but nevertheless had a soothing effect on her horse. The stallion remained complacent as Éomund's daughter tied him to the tree, for Legolas continued his monologue until she was done.

"Thank you," she said as she let go of the rope, grateful for his assistance. Without it, she would have likely spent the better part of ten minutes trying to convince Sceoh to accept his constraints.

"You are welcome," Legolas responded, withdrawing from the horse. Glancing at the river, he questioned, "Do you come here often?"

Gúthwyn shook her head. "I have been only once since Elfwine's birth," she informed Legolas. "Indeed, I have ventured no further from my home in those years, and excepting an excursion to Helm's Deep I have not otherwise left Edoras since the War of the Ring."

Legolas appeared amazed. "Not even to visit Gondor?"

"Nay, not even to Gondor—whenever Éomer went with Elessar on military expeditions, I remained at home to rule the Eorlingas in his stead, for he did not marry Lothíriel until after the last of the Enemy's servants were subdued," Gúthwyn answered. This utter lack of mobility suited her quite well; she could not imagine ever wanting to live anywhere besides Rohan.

"Do you miss traveling?" Legolas asked. By silent consent, they began walking towards the shore and the rest of their company.

Gúthwyn thought for a moment, idly watching Éomer untie a squalling Elfwine from his waist. "I suppose I would not mind seeing Aragorn again," she conceded, "but other than that, I am more than content to remain in Rohan for the rest of my life. In fact, I pray that my days here will have no end."

"I have never met a mortal so devoted to their realm as you," Legolas marveled, raising an eyebrow. "You truly long to reside nowhere else?"

Gúthwyn shook her head emphatically. "Never," she said, her gaze lingering on Elfwine. "After spending seven years wishing to see Rohan again, I have no desire to abandon my home so quickly. Everyone I love is here; what reason have I to stray?"

Too late, she remembered she had not accounted for Éowyn, but when she looked over and saw her sister kissing Faramir she resolutely decided to remain silent. As Legolas agreed that she had a point, a small prickling sensation on the back of her neck caused her to tear her gaze from her sister. She soon focused on the Elves, all of whom except Tirendil—the oldest of the group, and according to Legolas charged with the task of keeping his prince in line—were removing their traveling boots. The latter was openly watching her and Legolas, a frown on his face.

Gúthwyn alerted Legolas to his actions. "Your friend is observing us," she remarked quietly.

Unlike her, Legolas did not seem to be affected by this realization. "I do not think he appreciates my lingering outside of my friends' protection." They were several yards away from the nearest Elf.

"No one will attack you here," Gúthwyn pointed out, though since she herself had been captured on these plains thirteen years ago she could not speak with confidence.

Legolas smiled sadly. "Even in these peaceful times, it is better to be safe than sorry."

"Gúthy! Leggy!"

The two of them started at Elfwine's call; Legolas was the first to recover. "The prince beckons," he said with a chuckle.

Gúthwyn laughed at the sight of her nephew enthusiastically waving them over. Éomer had not yet set him down—otherwise, he would have run to them himself.

"Hello, little one," Gúthwyn spoke as they approached Elfwine, ignoring Lothíriel's chilly look. "Were you a good boy on the ride?"

Éomer grimaced. "I am surprised that I have not gone deaf," he answered with a groan, though nevertheless he ruffled his son's hair. "An hour may have been too much for him."

"He will have to learn," Lothíriel responded with a sigh, withdrawing a blanket from one of her saddlebags.

"Let me help you with that," Éomer offered. The coverlet was largely to prevent Elfwine from rolling around in the dirt, although no one was entirely sure that the measure would have any discernible amount of success. "Sister, will you hold him while I assist Lothíriel?"

Gúthwyn agreed, and within seconds found her arms full of a squealing toddler.

"Leggy, where more Effs?" her nephew demanded, his head turning this way and that. His hand found his way into Gúthwyn's locks, where it seized a large fistful and unceremoniously yanked.

Legolas gestured in their direction, and once Elfwine had sighted them inquired, "Do you know their names?"

"Ran-in!" Elfwine shouted gleefully, eager to oblige. "Tree-on!" He waved at both of them. "And… and… Fye-on!"

Gúthwyn could not help herself: she laughed at the toddler's absurd nicknames, and even more when the recipients realized to whom Elfwine was referring. "Oh, little one," she murmured, kissing him on the brow as Raniean positively glowered, "you really are silly sometimes."

"Is not!" Elfwine protested, sticking out his tongue. Gúthwyn mimicked him, earning a peal of laughter. "Gúthy silly!" the boy told Legolas.

"Is Legolas silly?" Gúthwyn asked mischievously, poking her nephew in the nose.

Attempting to grab her finger, Elfwine scoffed and exclaimed, "No! Leggy serious."

Legolas looked as if he were about to say something, perhaps in protest, but at that moment Éomer and Lothíriel finished spreading out their blanket. The queen immediately requested Elfwine back and, though reluctant, Gúthwyn had no other choice but to accommodate her. This, naturally, was not well-received by the young prince. In the ensuing temper tantrum, Gúthwyn muttered to Legolas, "It would be better to distance yourself."

The Elf nodded and, pardoning himself, walked away to join his friends. Gúthwyn similarly took leave, which only served to make Elfwine angrier, and went to find the children. She spotted them closer to the shore with Cobryn, Haiweth worriedly sticking her toes in the water and Hammel still fully clothed—and what was more, with a book in his hands.

"Come on, you three," Gúthwyn encouraged them, slipping off her dress and casting it on the ground. The leggings and tunic she had on beneath were far more suited for swimming than a stuffy riding gown. "The guards are already in the water!"

It was true: no sooner had they secured their horses than the men discarded their tunics and flung themselves into the river, their number soon enlarged by the Rangers. Although the two groups were barely mingling, all had engaged in a massive splashing contest in which it was almost impossible to discern between them.

"I do not want to swim," Haiweth said quietly, withdrawing her feet from the water.

"I am going to read," Hammel announced, and promptly wandered off with his book.

Knowing that the boy was a lost cause until he decided that he was interested in swimming, Gúthwyn focused on coaxing Haiweth into the river with her. "Do not be afraid, little one," she said, squeezing the girl's shoulder. "We can practice in a shallow area, you will be fine!"

"But what if I drown?" Haiweth asked, her face pale.

"You are not going to drown," Gúthwyn promised her, chilled by the very thought. "I will not let you, I promise."

Still Haiweth hesitated. "Are the Elves going to be in the water, too?" she questioned, shivering in a nonexistent breeze.

Gúthwyn exchanged a glance with Cobryn over the child's shoulder. "I believe so, little one," she said carefully.

Haiweth bit her lip. "Can we wait?" she wanted to know, her eyes darting anxiously towards Legolas and his friends.

"Of course," Gúthwyn assured her. As much as it would have pleased her for Haiweth to overcome her fears, she knew better than to push. Éomer had done that to her with marriage; the results had been disastrous. "What would you like to do instead?"

Relieved, Haiweth cast about for an alternative option. "Is Éowyn busy?" she questioned, standing on her tiptoes to get a better look at the White Lady.

Gúthwyn turned and saw her sister wandering along the shoreline, for once not with Faramir. The Steward had waded into the water with his men and was nowhere to be seen in the fray of flailing limbs and raucous laughter. Éomund's youngest daughter could not help but be pleased with this, for she was tired of seeing Éowyn beside Faramir as if they were attached at the hip. "If you want to speak to her, I am sure she has time," she told Haiweth, smiling.

"May I go over and talk to her, then?" Haiweth pleaded.

Laughing, Gúthwyn shooed her off, watching as the girl caught up with Éowyn and initiated what soon developed into a lively conversation. She and Cobryn were left alone, although she certainly did not feel deprived of company in the presence of her friend. "Are you going to swim?" she asked him.

Cobryn shrugged. "I might as well," he replied.

"Your enthusiasm is overwhelming," Gúthwyn said, rolling her eyes affectionately. "Come! I shall let you off the hook when the worst of the guards' fight is over and my brother will not have a fit if I join them."

Grinning, Cobryn pulled off his tunic and—much to Gúthwyn's amusement—folded it before letting it drop on the ground. "Are you ready now?" she teased him when he was done.

When they were in the river, Cobryn retaliated by sending a wave of water in her direction. Drenched before she had even ducked under the surface, a spluttering Gúthwyn met his challenge with the biggest splash she could muster. It was all-out war from there, dignity a forgotten entity as they lost themselves in the moment. The current brought them closer to the Eorlingas; before long, their skirmish had escalated, the other men swimming over to participate. Needless to say, all of them were thoroughly and repeatedly soaked.

At length, the horseplay was punctuated by bouts of boisterous conversation, usually revolving around boasts of physical prowess. Cobryn's sharp tongue and quick wit provided them with many a laugh, generally at the expense of overconfident soldiers. Hopelessly ill-equipped for verbal sparring at her friend's level, Gúthwyn was more than content to float in the middle of the circle and listen to the taunts being exchanged.

A couple of hours later, she drifted from the group with the intent of checking on Elfwine. Éomer and Lothíriel had been planning on introducing him to the water, an event that had not yet occurred but promised to be interesting. Smiling to herself at the thought of her nephew learning how to swim, Gúthwyn made her way to the shore and emerged from the river, dripping wet and shivering under the sudden assault of air.

Then she stopped cold, an action that had nothing to do with the temperature. Éomer and Lothíriel were nowhere in sight, but Elfwine was still on the blanket. In his parents' place was Faramir, holding a couple of wooden warriors and trying unsuccessfully to tempt the young prince with them. The Steward had left the water earlier, but Gúthwyn had not given him a single thought afterwards—now she regretted her negligence. At a yard or two distant, Éowyn and Haiweth were chattering about something, neither of them paying attention to Elfwine.

Furious that a killer had been left in charge of her nephew, Gúthwyn hastened over to the blanket. As she drew nearer, she heard Elfwine snap irritably, "Go away! Leave alone!"

Faramir appeared to be at a total loss. He glanced at Éowyn once, helplessly; then he seemed to think better of it and offered Elfwine a toy knight again.

"Go _away_!" Elfwine repeated, whacking the wooden man out of his hands. "Don't want Far'mir!"

"Little one!" Gúthwyn called worriedly.

Both the Steward and her nephew looked up. Faramir stiffened, his eyes narrowing; Elfwine pulled himself to his feet and toddled over to her. "Gúthy!" he exclaimed, wrapping his arms around her legs. The fact that they were still wet did not appear to bother him in the least. "You back!"

"That I am," Gúthwyn agreed cheerfully, glad to have intervened. She hated the idea of Faramir being alone with her brother's son—it made her skin crawl, her blood boil.

Elfwine pouted and announced, in a perfectly audible voice, "Gúthy, no like Far'mir! Far'mir boring. Gúthy play?"

"Of course I will," Gúthwyn responded, barely resisting the urge to laugh at the taken aback expression on the Steward's face. "What shall we play?"

Elfwine thought for a moment, and then beamed up at her impishly. "Fight!" he declared.

Gúthwyn grinned. "All right, little one, can you bring me your men?"

Releasing her legs, Elfwine returned to the blanket and began collecting his figures. He utterly ignored Faramir, who by now was staring at Gúthwyn suspiciously. The intensity of his gaze unnerved Éomund's youngest daughter and she attempted to pay no heed to it, but without success. Against her instincts she moved closer to the blanket, wanting to be near her nephew. Kneeling on the coverlet, she waited patiently, trying to look anywhere but at her sister's husband.

"Gúthy, be knight," Elfwine instructed as he crawled back to her, dumping the toys in her lap.

"And what are you going to be?" Gúthwyn inquired, selecting a soldier and positioning it on the coverlet.

"Papa!" Elfwine cried, seizing another warrior. "You Leggy. Fight!"

As the two of them began to duel with their toys, Faramir stood up and left. Elfwine hardly noticed his departure; Gúthwyn uneasily watched him sit next to Éowyn and hoped that he would not mention what had just transpired. Luckily, Haiweth still had most of the White Lady's attention—their conversation continued, uninterrupted, as the Steward sat down and joined in.

For a moment, Gúthwyn hesitated. Ought she to fabricate an excuse to stop Haiweth from talking to Faramir? Éowyn would surely see right through a lie; leaving would upset Haiweth. No, she could not, regardless of how much she wanted to keep Borogor's killer from interacting with her children. Neither of them knew what Faramir had done, not even Hammel, and it had to remain that way.

Struggling to quell the urge to remove Haiweth from the sphere of Faramir's influence, Gúthwyn continued to play with Elfwine until she saw Éomer and Lothíriel approaching.

"I see our son was too much for Faramir to handle," Éomer commented with a nod in the Steward's direction. "We were hardly gone ten minutes!"

"Elfwine did not take well to him," Gúthwyn replied, kissing her nephew's forehead. "He was being a very difficult little boy."

"Is not!"

"Where were you?" Gúthwyn wanted to know, looking at Éomer. _Why did you leave your son with _him_?_

"Lothíriel and I went on a walk," Éomer informed her. She saw that his fingers were interlaced with his wife's. "Did you just come out of the water?"

"Yes, I thought I would see how Elfwine was doing," Gúthwyn said. "I take it he has not been in the river yet?"

"No, though now would be a good time," Éomer responded. "It is not long before lunch; I do not think he will last for much more than a quarter of an hour. Shall we, Lothíriel?"

The queen nodded, her eyes narrowing as they met Gúthwyn's.

"Come on, son," Éomer said, bending over and scooping Elfwine into his arms. Startled, Elfwine began flailing.

"Papa!" he protested, ineffectively jabbing at Éomer's hand with a wooden horse. "I play!"

"Sister, will you follow us?" Éomer asked in an undertone. "He may be more receptive to swimming if he can see you."

"Of course," Gúthwyn agreed, getting to her feet. She steadfastly avoided glancing at Lothíriel, who looked as if she had just swallowed something particularly nasty.

Together the three of them strolled down to the river, Elfwine kept complacent only by Gúthwyn performing a series of facial contortions. These amused him to no end, and he giggled incessantly until they reached the water's edge. At that point, Gúthwyn went ahead of Éomer and Lothíriel, just in case Elfwine became hysterical once he entered the river.

She was the first to step in, and she waved cheerfully at her nephew as she gradually submerged herself. This part of the river became deep fairly quickly; she was not far at all from the shore when she was able to duck under the water. This she did, drawing a deep breath and sliding under. The shouts and laughter around her were abruptly cut off, leaving an eerie silence that was as soothing as it was frightening. She lingered for a few seconds, enjoying the quiet. Then her feet touched the bottom and she pushed off of them, shooting back up to the surface.

As soon as the fresh air met her face, she knew something was wrong. Elfwine was screeching her name over and over, his voice thick with tears. Bewildered, Gúthwyn pushed her hair out of her eyes and swam closer to her nephew, who was bawling into Éomer's neck.

"Gúthy _gone_!" the child wailed hysterically. "Give Gúthy back! Effine need Gúthy!"

Realizing what had happened, and coloring under the accusatory glare of Lothíriel, Gúthwyn hastened to rectify her error. "Little one, I am right here!" she declared, a loud bid for her nephew's attention. "You can see me now!"

Startled, sniffling, Elfwine craned his neck to catch a glimpse of her. "Gúthy?" he whimpered, his nose running.

"Oh, little one," Gúthwyn murmured, swimming towards him. Éomer and Lothíriel had been about waist-deep at the time of her ill-fated dunk; she did not have far to travel before she was next to her brother, planting a kiss on her nephew's brow and assuring him that she would never disappear again. "I am so sorry," she added to Éomer, mortified for not having anticipated the effect so simple an action would have on Elfwine. "I was not thinking…"

Éomer waved away her apology. "I still have hearing in one ear," he joked, lowering his son into the water. Elfwine barely noticed, so concerned was he about Gúthwyn. Having ascertained her presence, the young prince was now determined to keep her at his side.

"Gúthy stay," he ordered her, his eyes red from crying; Éomund's daughter did not have the heart to refuse.

For the next ten or so minutes, Éomer and Lothíriel acquainted their son with the river. After recovering from the initial shock of his beloved aunt disappearing beneath the surface, Elfwine adjusted quite well to his surroundings—indeed, he was soon comfortable on his stomach and back, Éomer supporting him the entire time, kicking and flailing in an attempt to swim. By the time everyone abandoned the river for lunch, he was begging Éomer to stay in the water.

The noon meal consisted of light fare, for all were planning on reentering the Snowbourn after they had finished and the water was not kind to a full stomach. Legolas and the Elves, who had gone upstream to swim—Gúthwyn suspected that they were accustomed to removing all their clothing for the activity, and out of courtesy to the mortals had done so elsewhere—returned and ate with them, prompting a conversation about the place that the Elves had found.

"There was a cliff," Legolas spoke, "that was excellent for diving, though the current was strong."

Éomer nodded. "Yes, I remember that area. It is not too far from here, correct?"

Legolas shook his head. "Not at all. It is very close."

Éowyn's eyes widened. "Now that I think of it, Éomer, you and I used to jump off of that cliff when we were younger and went swimming more often! Our uncle was always so worried…"

Laughing, Éomer replied, "And Théodred certainly never did anything to alleviate his father's anxiety!"

"Of course not, he was too busy leaping in after us," Éowyn said with a grin. "I should like to go back to that place. Let us, after lunch!"

It was agreed upon by all except the guards and the Rangers, many of which were responsible for the midday watch. Throughout the morning, the men had taken it in turns to survey the vicinity, alert for any potential predators. Though the risk was low, none of the royal families were keen on leaving their safety in the hands of fate—especially not as far as Elfwine, the heir to Rohan, was concerned.

Gúthwyn listened to her brother and sister concoct these plans with regret. She knew they had not been purposefully leaving her out, but the mention of Théodred on top of that which she had missed due to her captivity was cruel. Excusing herself after she was done with her food, she hid behind the horses' tree cluster and pretended to groom Sceoh while in reality composing herself.

When she emerged, Éowyn, Éomer, Faramir, and Lothíriel were waiting for her. The queen had no intentions of jumping into the water—such an act was assuredly unladylike—but she would watch Elfwine while the others went without her. To Gúthwyn's surprise, Hammel and Haiweth were also planning on joining them, though Haiweth insisted that she would not go on the cliff and that she was only with them because of her brother.

"You will be _fine_," Gúthwyn admonished her. "Stop worrying, little one!"

Unfortunately, her light command was far more easily given than obeyed. When she discovered that Legolas and Raniean were to accompany them, Haiweth very nearly decided not to go; Gúthwyn spent the better part of five minutes talking her into coming, and only by pointing out that there would be more Elves if the girl stayed behind did she achieve success.

At long last, they headed upstream. Éomer knew the area well, and could have led them there, but his attention was constantly diverted by Elfwine and as a result, Legolas and Raniean went ahead of the group. Gúthwyn did not recall ever having been to this cliff, so when they walked around a boulder and saw the landmark she was pleasantly surprised.

In this area, the ground had swelled on the right side of the river, leaving a gentle slope that rose about fifteen or so feet above the water's surface. A sharp protrusion of rocks at the top of the hill, part of which had been cut away by the river, formed the promised cliff. It was a quirky feature that promised to provide no small amount of entertainment.

Haiweth's eyes grew enormous when she beheld it. "You are going to jump off of _that_?" she whispered; nevertheless, her remark was heard by all and there was a round of laughter.

"It is quite safe, little one," Gúthwyn promised.

"It is," Éomer agreed, "so long as one jumps far enough out." At Gúthwyn's questioning look, he explained, "there are some rocks at the bottom of the river right below the cliff, but there are not many and it is easy to leap across them."

"See?" Gúthwyn turned to Haiweth, smiling confidently. "You should join us!"

Haiweth did not appear convinced in the slightest. "Maybe," she muttered, more to please Gúthwyn than anything else.

"How about you watch us all go," Gúthwyn offered, "and then you can decide whether or not it looks safe?"

"All right," Haiweth agreed, and immediately gravitated to where Lothíriel had set up the blanket for the onlookers. Elfwine was in the queen's lap, playing serenely with his wooden cavalry.

Legolas and Raniean were the first to make the jump. The latter was not wearing a tunic, and the sight of his pale, firm body caused Gúthwyn to shudder as she remembered Haldor. Luckily, Legolas was fully clothed—was the gesture intended to set her at ease? Or was it simply some form of Elven royal propriety designed to keep ladies from being offended?

She was reading too much into this, Gúthwyn realized; perhaps it was merely the Valar protecting her from her fears. Struggling to push thoughts of Haldor from her mind, she went to Éomer's side and began ascending the hill with him.

"Have you been enjoying yourself?" Éomer asked quietly as they drew closer to the summit.

Gúthwyn smiled. "Yes, I have," she replied. "A thousand thanks, brother. This was an excellent idea." She was not lying—even with Faramir and the Elves' presences, the day had been a success and she was already looking forward to the next time they went swimming.

"I am glad to hear it," Éomer said, grinning. As he spoke, they crested the hill. "Now, baby sister, shall we go together?"

Gúthwyn made a face. "You are afraid I will hit the rocks," she accused him, half-jokingly.

He pretended to be offended. "Must I have a reason for wanting the pleasure of your company?"

Rolling her eyes, she mock-shoved him, but because his stature was far greater than her own he barely moved. Laughing, Éomer led her over to the edge of the cliff, where Gúthwyn looked down and realized that fifteen feet was a lot higher from this point of view than it had been from the safety of the ground. She had survived a fall from the Deeping Wall during the battle of Helm's Deep, but she had not had much of a choice in the matter and, given one now, was more than wary of willfully making such a jump.

"I will hold onto your arm," Éomer said as Éowyn and Faramir, who had been a few paces to their left, leaped into the water. "I would rather be safe than sorry." Éowyn's laughter rang in Gúthwyn's ears as she nodded, more relieved than she wanted to divulge that Éomer—who was by far the stronger swimmer—would have a firm grasp on her.

"Do you think this is too dangerous for Haiweth to attempt?" she asked tentatively.

"Not at all," Éomer replied. "See for yourself!"

With that, he bent his knees. Gúthwyn barely had time to do the same before he jumped, his grip on her arm taking him with her. They soared out over the Snowbourn, Éowyn encouraging them from a safe distance away. It was almost like flying, Gúthwyn thought in that moment; then, they plummeted. They shot straight into the water, Éomer's hand the only thing connecting them as they plunged into the depths of the river.

Gúthwyn was immediately aware that the current here was, in fact, stronger. Yet it was not as difficult as she had feared to swim back up, and when her head broke the surface she realized that she had actually had fun. She was laughing as she and Éomer swam out of the way of the next jumpers, now more determined than ever to convince Haiweth to join her.

"That was not bad at all," she remarked happily to her brother. "Let us do that again!"

And so they did. After a few rounds, Éowyn and Faramir retired to the blanket, but Gúthwyn, Éomer, Cobryn, and the Elves passed over half an hour leaping into the Snowbourn. The sensation one experienced as they were airborne was incredible; Gúthwyn loved the feeling of her body being as light as a feather, liking to imagine that for those precious seconds that she had grown wings and would be able to fly back home.

Hammel eventually joined them, astounding Gúthwyn until she realized that he had finished his book and had nothing better to do. He refused to let Éomund's youngest daughter jump with him, and he went solemnly; Gúthwyn knew he was afraid, but did not want to embarrass him by offering her assistance again. When his thin form slipped under the water, her own breath caught in her throat, and her heart did not recover until she saw for herself that his head had emerged from the river. Hammel seemed to like it, and went a few more times, but on each round Gúthwyn had to contend with a sudden wave of fear that he would not be able to master the current.

At length Haiweth, overcome by the irresistible combination of both Gúthwyn and Éowyn coaxing her into the water, consented to try the leap—"But just once," she warned Gúthwyn as they walked up the hill. "Then I am going back to the blanket and staying there."

Gúthwyn held her tongue and her laughter, willing to bet that once Haiweth had done the jump once, she would want to perform it again. As it turned out, she was right: after requiring ten minutes of persuasion to take the risk, the child delighted in it, and could not believe that she had been so frightened over so small a thing. She and Gúthwyn went again and again, for although Haiweth was no longer worried about the leap, she was not at all confident about her swimming and preferred to have the security of holding her surrogate mother's hand.

Unfortunately, their fun soon came to an end. Éomer had some business to accomplish in Meduseld, the result being that they needed to leave early in the afternoon. Gúthwyn was not bothered by this, for she was lucky enough that her brother had been able to take this much time off in the first place. Haiweth, however, begged Éomund's daughter to take her up to the cliff one more time, and made her promise that they would return again someday.

Legolas and Raniean were behind them as they trekked up the hill, for the Elves had also wanted another jump. Cobryn was no longer with them, having returned to the first encampment to retrieve his belongings, and as a result there was no buffer protecting them from the Elves. Gúthwyn did her best to ignore her instincts, which were screaming at her not to have her back to someone who bore such a resemblance to Haldor. She studiously pushed these thoughts aside, though the tension was noticeable and certainly affected Haiweth.

"All right, little one," Gúthwyn said when they were at the top, surreptitiously glancing over her shoulder at the Elves. "Let us make this quick, for Éomer has things that he must do at home."

Haiweth nodded, clasping Gúthwyn's hand in her own. The sweet smell of the river wafted up to their noses; the sun was sparkling on the water's rippling surface, dazzling both of them. As they sprung from the cliff, Gúthwyn heard Legolas shout and thought that Haiweth's foot had slipped on the wet rock. The girl's grip loosened, and she seemed to be falling back, but Éomund's daughter did not have enough time to check before her feet hit the cool water.

The impact tore Haiweth's hand from her own, yet Gúthwyn was not worried, for the child knew that she had to swim for the light and the current was not so strong that it was dangerous. Nevertheless, she lingered under the water, trying to catch a glimpse of Haiweth to ensure that everything was all right. She was unsuccessful, and deciding that Haiweth must have already reached the surface—and was probably wondering where Gúthwyn was—she quickly swam towards the sun's reflection above her.

However, when she came to the top, the water around her was utterly still. Haiweth was not there, laughing at their mishap and begging to go again. She was simply nowhere to be seen, and as the seconds lengthened she did not emerge from the river.

"Haiweth?" Gúthwyn called nervously, turning around to see if the girl was behind her. There was no response. She checked the shore, wondering if it was possible for Haiweth to have already climbed out of the water—nothing.

Her child had disappeared.


	10. No Real Mother

**Note:** I'm not a lifeguard, so I don't know the exact procedure for rescuing a drowning victim. I did my best with online guides, but most of them weren't very specific. If something I've written isn't at all what you're supposed to do, please tell me!

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Ten<strong>

When nearly half a minute had passed and Haiweth still had not emerged from the water, Gúthwyn panicked.

"_Haiweth!_" she screamed, drawing the attention of the others on the shore.

"Sister, what is wrong?" Éomer shouted—he had not been paying attention to her jump while he was saddling his horse. Éowyn and Faramir looked over also, their expressions quizzical; Lothíriel was, as usual, ignoring her.

"Haiweth is gone!" Gúthwyn shrieked, her voice rising hysterically. She turned around in frenzied circles, begging the Valar to bring her child back. "_Haiweth!_"

With more speed than she had ever seen him use, Hammel ran to the edge of the river. "You were supposed to be holding onto her!" he yelled, his face contorted in fear. "Why did you let go?"

"She slipped—_Hammel, no!_"

The boy had flung himself into the water and was swimming clumsily out towards her. "What if she hit the rocks?" he demanded, each word a gasp for air as he struggled to remain above the surface.

"Hammel, go back!" Gúthwyn ordered him, terrified. With every second she wasted, Haiweth's chances of surviving were narrowing. "I will find her, I swear! Go back, or you will drown!"

"_Haiweth is my sister!_" Hammel roared, ignoring her.

"Éomer, get him out of the water!" Gúthwyn cried. She could not lose both of her children; she could not save Hammel while she was searching for Haiweth. As Éomer began sprinting towards the river, she took a deep breath and slipped under the surface, swimming towards the bottom.

It was hopeless. The looming shadows of the rocks obscured her view, and the current was moving too fast for her to get close and examine them. Before long, the exertion of swimming against the river and the pounding of her heart left her out of breath; when her instincts took over and forced her to swim back up, there was still no sign of Haiweth.

The instant her head broke the water, she began screaming. She could not even form words; it was pure helplessness, sheer terror, that created the guttural sounds in her throat and forced them from her mouth.

"Sister!" Éomer shouted, his face pale as he dragged Hammel from the water. The boy was fighting tooth and nail against him, curses in the Black Speech that Gúthwyn was shocked he remembered spewing from his lips. "Did you see her?" Éomer demanded, pinning Hammel's arms to his chest.

"No!" Gúthwyn shrieked, feeling as if she were about to vomit. "I do not know where she—"

"Gúthwyn, move!"

The voice came from above her and she looked up to see Legolas at the edge of the cliff, poised as if to dive. Raniean was at his side, silent and tense. "Get out of the way!" Thranduil's son shouted, motioning with his hands.

Numbly, her movements more like twitches, Gúthwyn obeyed. She had barely done so when Legolas leaped, his slender figure cutting through the air before it disappeared under the surface with a small splash that did not reach her, only a few feet away though she was. Realizing that she could do nothing but wait, she whimpered, pressing her fingers to her mouth as if to keep the bile from spilling out.

"You killed her!" Hammel was yelling. Behind him, guards were rushing to the scene, slowing down in bewilderment when they realized that no one in the royal family was hurt. "You killed her! Was it so hard for you to hold onto her? How could you let go of her, you—"

"Be quiet!" Éomer finally snapped, clamping a gloved hand over Hammel's mouth. "How dare you?"

Gúthwyn could not speak. She could not think. Hammel's words had utterly frozen her—she was caught in the iron grip of terror, her chattering teeth a paltry echo of the fear that was rattling her breath, her very bones. She could only stare at the spot where Legolas had disappeared, praying for the girl that she had all but given birth to. Elfwine's wails, provoked by his aunt's screams, resonated shrilly in her ears and yet she had no urge to comfort him. She could not leave Haiweth.

The seconds lengthened. Beads of sweat formed on her brow, sliding down her face like tears. Her throat was constricting, her pulse quickening. Éomer was shouting her name, but it sounded as though he were a thousand miles away and she could not raise her voice that far. She was tense, a deer within range of a hunter's bow, waiting for the moment her heart would be shattered into countless, irreparable pieces. Waiting for her little one's body.

There were ripples on the surface an instant before Legolas's head emerged, his hair plastered over his face. Gúthwyn nearly fainted when she did not see Haiweth—and then, a second later, the child materialized, gasping for air but very much alive. The catatonic stupor that had embalmed Gúthwyn evanesced when Haiweth began crying, spitting out water and gagging as her small body was wracked with terrified sobs.

Regaining feeling in her limbs, Gúthwyn swam over as quickly as she could. "H-Haiweth?" she managed, reaching out to touch her child.

"G-Gúthwyn!" Haiweth bawled, trying to pull away from Legolas. Her arms were flailing in all directions; Éomund's daughter came closer and a frantic kick grazed her shins.

"Little one, you are safe now—"

Haiweth broke free from Legolas, who was evidently reluctant to forcefully constrain her, and flung herself at Gúthwyn. Unprepared for the additional weight, Gúthwyn was pushed under the surface even as she tried to hold Haiweth above it. She drew in a panicked breath and immediately choked on a mouthful of water. Haiweth was trying to yank her back up, and yet was the reason Éomund's youngest daughter was trapped below.

Before Gúthwyn's situation grew worse, Haiweth's wriggling form was suddenly no longer on top of her. Gúthwyn shot up to the surface, gasping and spluttering when she inhaled fresh air. Legolas had drawn Haiweth off of her and was trying to keep the girl afloat by having her lie on her back, but Haiweth was crying hysterically and not enabling him to do so efficiently.

"Are you all right?" Legolas asked Gúthwyn, having to shout to be heard over Haiweth.

"I am fine," she replied, panting. "We must get Haiweth to shore!"

"Gúthwyn!" Haiweth sobbed, reaching. Needing.

"Little one, stay with Legolas!" Gúthwyn ordered, shoving aside the desire to pull Haiweth into her arms and never let go. "He is a stronger swimmer than I." The necessity of bringing Haiweth to safety was calming her somewhat; she could not panic when the girl was in danger. Before her child could protest remaining with Legolas, she nodded at the Elf and he hooked one of his arms around Haiweth's torso, using the other to help him sidestroke towards the shore.

"No!" Haiweth exclaimed, struggling even though she could scarcely breathe. "Gúthwyn!"

"Haiweth, I am right here," Gúthwyn promised earnestly, trying to keep pace with Legolas. The Elf was swift: they reached the shore in a matter of seconds, Legolas lifting Haiweth as easily as if she were a rag doll and carrying her out of the water. As he did so, Gúthwyn caught a glimpse of something that she had not been able to see before. Blood was dripping down Haiweth's left ankle, coming from two gashes on either side.

Before Gúthwyn had time to react to this, a swarm of people rushed over to help. Éomer came, still restraining Hammel; the guards were there, several of them asking Éomund's youngest daughter if she was all right and offering both her and Haiweth their cloaks; Éowyn ran towards them, carrying a blanket that she spread out on the ground. Legolas carefully lowered Haiweth onto the coverlet, thanking Éowyn for her assistance.

"Please, give her some room," Legolas instructed the onlookers, and all except Gúthwyn obliged.

"I have some bandages," she instead murmured breathlessly, searching the crowd for a swift runner. "Hunwald," she petitioned the young guard, "will you bring me my pack? I left it near the horses…" She gave a brief description and the man nodded, sprinting away to retrieve her supplies. Gúthwyn returned her attention to Haiweth, asking Legolas, "What happened to her ankle?"

"It was caught in a crevasse between two rocks," Legolas replied grimly, and Haiweth affirmed this shakily.

"Hush, little one," Gúthwyn whispered, reaching out and stroking her hair. "Do not strain yourself. Does your ankle hurt?"

Haiweth nodded silently, tears steadily leaking out of her eyes.

"Gúthwyn," Erkenbrand spoke then, holding out his cloak and water canteen, "if you would like to clean her cuts before they are bandaged, you can use these."

"A thousand thanks," Éomund's daughter said, gratefully accepting the Marshal's offerings. She noticed that her hands were shaking as they pulled out the stopper to the canteen; when she made to pour water over Haiweth's ankle, they were trembling so violently that she nearly missed. _Stop it!_ she ordered herself, furious at her weakness when Haiweth was injured.

"Do you want help?" Legolas asked quietly, noting her anxiety.

Haiweth overheard, and her eyes widened in panic. They locked with Gúthwyn's, and almost imperceptibly the girl shook her head. Gúthwyn understood: Legolas was not to touch the child anymore than he already had.

"N-No, I am fine," she told the Elf, tightly gripping Elfhelm's cloak. "Th-Thank you…" She pressed the dark fabric onto Haiweth's ankle, drawing a soft gasp from the girl. "I know this hurts," she murmured soothingly, "but it will feel better as soon as the bandages are put on. I promise."

Despite the calmness of the exercise—gently patting Haiweth's lacerations and soaking up as much blood as she could—a bubble of hysteria was gradually swelling within Éomund's daughter. _My baby could have drowned_, she thought, even as she assured Haiweth that everything was all right, that she was safe, that nothing had happened. _By the Valar…_

"I have your pack, my lady!"

_She could have drowned she could have drowned she could have drowned_—

"Th-Thank you, Hunwald," Gúthwyn managed, swallowing as she took the bag. Images of Haiweth's watery grave flashed through her mind while she rummaged around for the bandages; by the time she located them, her face was pale, her pulse pounding in her ears. She had come so close to losing her little one…

Mechanically, her hands reached out and started applying the bandages to Haiweth's ankle. Her mind was a whirlwind but her body was rational, working methodically to ensure her child's well-being. Every couple of minutes she inquired as to whether the girl was all right, and the answer was the same each time—yes—but with a lack of strength that belied her responses.

Gradually, the crowd around them began to disperse, secure in the knowledge that Haiweth would be fine. The guards loitered away, lingering close enough so that they could provide swift assistance should it be called for, but sensing that it would not be needed. Éowyn and Faramir sought Gúthwyn's assurance that all was well and then went to their horses, which had been brought before the incident by the stableboys. Only Éomer remained, still holding Hammel back.

"Let go of me," the boy snarled, struggling to free himself from the king's grasp. His voice was hoarse, an indicator of how many times he had issued the same order.

As Gúthwyn tied the final knot on the bandages, Haiweth feebly attempted to sit up. Her arms wobbled so much that they almost gave out beneath her; Gúthwyn protested and even Legolas quietly discouraged her, yet she persisted. "H-Hammel?" she choked out, her eyes welling with tears.

"Let go of me!" Hammel all but roared at Éomer.

At a nod from Gúthwyn, the king relinquished his hold on the boy. Hammel lunged forward, sinking to his knees beside Haiweth and enveloping her in a bone-crushing embrace. Haiweth burst into tears and clung to him, babbling so frantically that Gúthwyn could barely understand her. "I-I thought I-I would n-n-never see you—"

Gúthwyn tactfully decided to give the children a moment. She sat back on her heels and then stood up, a rush of nausea sweeping over her in place of the adrenaline that had begun to ebb away. She had been so close to losing Haiweth… to have protected her from Haldor, only to be helpless against a river…

She was shaking when Legolas also rose to his feet, quivering when she realized that she had not yet expressed her gratitude for his rescue. "L-Legolas," she whispered, fighting tooth and nail not to give into the tears that were pressing at the corners of her eyes. He looked at her, knew what she was going to say, and shook his head as if to tell her that it did not matter. But it did matter. "Th-Thank you so much!" she gasped.

Her vision was blurring. She saw before her not Haldor but rather the savior of her child, the one who had brought Haiweth back from the brink of death. The sudden urge to embrace him, as she would were he anyone else, was so overpowering that she actually took a step towards him before remembering. "Y-You have n-n-no idea w-what this m-means to me," she instead murmured, her cheeks now streaked with tears. "I-I-I need Haiweth…" A shudder overcame her, and she could not even see Thranduil's son for the wetness in her eyes.

"It was the least I could do," Legolas replied after a startled pause. Éomer exchanged a concerned glance with him. "Are you all right?"

Gúthwyn almost laughed. "F-Forget about me," she said, amazed that he should be concerned about her when it was Haiweth who had nearly drowned. "I-I am f-fine… I-I was just s-s-so worried…" She stepped back, not wanting to be too close—Haiweth's rescuer or not, he was still Haldor's twin—and wiped her eyes, the action doing little more than smearing her face with tears. "I do not know w-what I would have d-done if she h-had… I would have felt so—"

"Guilty?" a harsh voice interjected.

Éomund's daughter turned around to see Hammel, staring at her with thinly-veiled contempt. He had loosened his clutch on Haiweth and now stood up, crossing his arms over his chest. "None of this would have happened if you had just held onto her!" he spat. "She never would have jumped if you had not convinced her—_oh, little one_," he mimicked Gúthwyn, his voice mockingly high-pitched, "_you will be perfectly safe, nothing can happen to you_—and then you could not even hold onto her properly! She almost _died_ because of _you_!"

"Hammel, shut up!" Haiweth screeched, her features no longer red from crying but from anger. Gúthwyn simply stood there, shocked, unable to believe that her child had just accused her in such cold-blooded hatred. "Gúthwyn did not do anything wrong! It was an accident, my foot slipped on the jump! Stop blaming her for everything bad that happens!"

"Of course it is her fault! No _real_ mother would have let you leap into that river!"

A horrible silence fell after Hammel's scathing remark. Such was the force of its impact that Gúthwyn felt as if all the wind had been knocked out of her; she gaped at her child, unable to find words to address this betrayal. Haiweth, too, was stunned—her mouth opened and closed silently, timidly. Legolas's eyes were wide, but he did not comment, for it was not his place.

Éomer recovered first. With frightening speed he bore down upon Hammel, clamping the boy's arm so thoroughly within his fist that Gúthwyn drew in a sharp breath. "How _dare_ you speak that way to the woman who has housed you, fed you, and clothed you for nearly a decade? You ungrateful little wretch! You would be _dead_ if it were not for her, and yet the way you treat her is appalling! Your behavior towards her lately has been despicable, and while she may have the grace to tolerate it—the Valar only know how—_I_ most certainly will not! As long as you are under my roof, I do not want to ever hear you belittling my sister! Do you understand me?"

Hammel glared at him, refusing to answer.

"_Do you understand me, you petulant, arrogant child?_" Éomer bellowed, the expression on his face frightening to behold. Haiweth had buried her face in her knees and was sobbing quietly, her hands covering her ears. Gúthwyn wanted to comfort her, but instead she kept an eye on Hammel's arm, worried that it would break from all the pressure her brother was clearly exerting on it.

"Yes," Hammel finally muttered, his sullen voice dripping with resentment. He would have pulled away, but Éomer beat him to it: the king pushed him aside and snarled:

"Do not make me have to discipline you again!"

Hammel whirled around and would have stormed off, but with a cry of anger Éomer yanked him back. "Lose the attitude," the king ordered, "or I will personally see to it that every book in your collection is confiscated, do you understand?"

"Yes, _sir_," Hammel replied, the civility in his tone forced out through clenched teeth.

"Good," Éomer said. "Now, get out of my sight."

As soon as Hammel was gone, Gúthwyn began breathlessly, "Brother, you should not have—"

Éomer fixed her with a look, and she was silent. "I know you do not wish to hurt him," he said gently, "but if you do not put him in his place he will continue to walk all over you. He believes you are weak, and that is why he is so unruly—I cannot watch his insolence around you, sister, and I will not let him say that you are anything less than an excellent mother."

Gúthwyn's cheeks flamed, even more so when she saw that Legolas had slipped away and was walking back towards the horses. What would the Elf think of her, able to control neither her children nor the methods that were used to do so? Unhappily, she looked at her feet. "His arm—"

"—will be fine," Éomer cut her off.

Painfully aware that Haiweth—whose tears had slowed to an unsteady trickle—was watching her to see what she would do, Gúthwyn swallowed and spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. "I wish it were not necessary."

Éomer reached out and patted her on the shoulder. "There are a lot of things I wish were not necessary," he replied, and then withdrew. "We shall be leaving soon," he announced, as if he had not just grabbed Hammel. "Is there anything I can get you before we go?" The question was directed at Haiweth, who meekly shook her head and appeared very self-conscious of the fact that she was sitting and the king was standing.

"Thank you for pulling Hammel out of the water," Gúthwyn told her brother, remembering suddenly that she had not yet expressed her gratitude. "I was afraid that he would…" For Haiweth's sake, she did not say "drown," but Éomer understood her intent.

"You are most welcome," he responded, inclining his head. "I am going to check on Lothíriel and Elfwine, but please do not hesitate to call me if you need assistance."

Gúthwyn nodded and watched her brother walk away before turning back to Haiweth. "Are you all right, little one?" she asked quietly. "Will you be able to move?"

Haiweth nodded, albeit rather hesitantly.

"Perhaps you should ride with Cobryn," Gúthwyn suggested, wondering if it would cause Haiweth too much pain to have her injured foot in a stirrup. Had Heahtor still been alive, Gúthwyn would have shared the saddle with Haiweth; but Sceoh could barely handle one rider, let alone two.

"You said my name?"

Cobryn emerged from seemingly out of nowhere, although he had likely been approaching them for some time without either of them noticing. "Yes, I did," she confirmed when she saw her friend.

"My apologies for not coming over sooner," Cobryn responded, "but I figured I would be more of a hindrance than a help. Is there anything I can do now?"

"I was thinking that it might be best for Haiweth to ride with you," Gúthwyn informed him, gesturing towards the girl's ankle.

"Of course," Cobryn said instantly. "Are you all right?" he inquired, glancing at Haiweth.

"I am fine," Haiweth answered, attempting to get to her feet. Immediately Gúthwyn and Cobryn leaped to help her, each offering an arm. Haiweth made an effort to rise without their aid, but her foot gave out underneath her and she ended up latching onto them.

"Steady," Cobryn grunted, shifting his weight onto his better leg.

"How are you doing, little one?" Gúthwyn asked worriedly. "Do you want to wait for a moment before we try walking to Cobryn's horse?"

Haiweth shook her head.

"Are you sure?" Gúthwyn pressed.

At a nod from Haiweth, Éomund's daughter shrugged at Cobryn. "I suppose we should head out, then."

Still supporting Haiweth with her arm, Gúthwyn quickly bent down to scoop up Erkenbrand's cloak and canteen, reminding herself to wash the former before she returned it to him. When the items were firmly in her free hand, the three of them began making their way towards Cobryn's horse. Luckily, it was only a short distance. Breca had prepared the stallion and it was ready to be mounted; unlike Sceoh, it was a strong creature that would not object to the additional weight of a slender girl.

After they had gotten Haiweth onto the horse, Cobryn leaned close to Gúthwyn. "What did Hammel do?" he questioned, softly so that Haiweth could not hear. His shrewd eyes held Gúthwyn's, searching for the answers that she might withhold.

Éomund's daughter did not want to lie, and even if she did her friend would have seen through the excuse right away. "He blamed me for convincing Haiweth to jump in the first place," she muttered, sighing. "He said that no real mother would have…" Speaking was difficult, and she swallowed rather than continue.

Cobryn's gaze blackened. "I will have a word with him," he vowed, his voice hard and unforgiving. "That behavior is unconscionable."

"Éomer already yelled at him," Gúthwyn replied heavily. "You do not have to."

"But I will," Cobryn said, "because he listens to me, even if he pretends otherwise. I did not spend hours tutoring him so that he could act so condescending towards you."

"He knows," Gúthwyn suddenly whispered, unable to bear it any longer. "He knows what I did with Haldor."

Cobryn stopped.

"He hates me," Éomund's daughter confessed, "because he found out…"

"Did you tell him why?" Cobryn asked, placing a firm hand on her shoulder. It was as much a reminder to keep a grip on herself as it was to brace her, should the subject bring back unpleasant memories.

Gúthwyn recoiled at the suggestion. "No. Never." How could she speak of rape to Hammel? How could she tell him that Haldor had blackmailed her with the children's lives, without Hammel feeling as though he were to blame?

"You should," Cobryn told her. "If you think he has figured out what happened—something I would not find difficult to believe—then you must explain what it all means. He may not realize that you were forced…"

"I cannot," Gúthwyn said, lowering her voice yet further as Haiweth peered at them curiously. "I will not. Please, do not ask me to."

Cobryn looked at her somberly. "Someday he will want answers," he said, and a sinking sensation entered Gúthwyn's stomach. "What are you going to do then?"

"What I have been doing every day for the past nine years," Éomund's daughter responded.

Their eyes met.

"I will lie."


	11. Hammel's Story

**Chapter Eleven**

"Papa, why Gúthy sad?"

The voice of her nephew caused Éomund's daughter to glance up, drawn from her gloomy reverie as if broken out of a trance. For the past half hour she had been staring blankly off into the distance, preoccupied with the events of that afternoon.

"Little one, I am not sad," she replied, though without any conviction in her voice—which was so quiet that it was unlikely Elfwine heard it over the pounding of horse hooves. The royal family, Cobryn, and the children were riding in the midst of a protective circle of guards, making it difficult to have a conversation in private. As a result, the queen was unabashedly eavesdropping, something that obviously did not bother Éomer but made Gúthwyn feel even less inclined to elaborate.

"Gúthy no sad," Elfwine pleaded, reaching vainly for her. His grasping hand fell several feet short: Sceoh's anxiety had necessitated Gúthwyn riding a little ways from the group. "Gúthy be happy!"

She wished it were that simple. Yet Hammel's words had awakened within her a melancholy that she could not shake off, a heartache that she could not ignore. For it was evident now—if it had not already been so—that the boy despised her. The crime of submitting to Haldor had cost her not only her dignity, but her child's love. How long had it taken for Hammel to discover her secret? Had he overheard Borogor comforting her on one of the countless nights she had returned from Haldor's tent, hunched over from the effort it took not to burst into tears? Or had a soldier told the boy in spite, wanting to see his reaction?

"Sister, is everything all right?" Éomer asked concernedly, navigating Firefoot closer to Sceoh. Sceoh shied away, but he had nowhere else to go: Cobryn was on his other side. Both Gúthwyn and her stallion were trapped between the piercing gazes of two men, and neither of them were particularly happy about it.

"I am fine," Éomund's youngest daughter answered quietly, ignoring Cobryn's look. In order to avoid further interrogation, she turned to Haiweth, who had been placed in front of Cobryn and was in all appearances just as subdued as Gúthwyn felt. "Little one, how are you holding up?"

"_I_ little one!" Elfwine interjected angrily while Haiweth was opening her mouth to respond. "Not High-eth!"

Haiweth glared at Elfwine. "I was 'little one' before you were even born," she said crossly.

Elfwine ungenerously stuck out his tongue.

"You are _both_ 'little one,'" Gúthwyn said firmly; she would have rolled her eyes in amusement if she had not been feeling so dismal. "How are you?" she repeated instead to Haiweth.

The girl shrugged. "I am fine," she announced.

It was difficult for Gúthwyn to tell with the wind roaring in her ears, but she could have sworn that she heard Cobryn mutter, "She takes after you."

"Are you sure you are all right?" Éomer pressed Gúthwyn after a moment. "You have hardly spoken a word since we left the river."

"Brother, I am _fine_," Gúthwyn insisted. "Really."

She glanced at Hammel as she denied her inner turmoil, but the boy was sullenly refusing to look anywhere near her and his eyes stared angrily at the horizon. He had said nothing to Gúthwyn since Éomer had yelled at him, not even when she had tentatively asked him if he wanted help saddling his horse. She knew Cobryn had already promised to give Hammel another lecture, but she suddenly wished she had not consented: it would only make the boy even angrier with her.

An uneasy silence fell over the group. Elfwine did not understand it and babbled on unconcernedly, but any desire of the others to speak was quelled by the tension between Gúthwyn and Hammel. The rest of the ride was quiet, the only sounds those of the soldiers laughing and jesting with their comrades. When at last they were within sight of Meduseld, its roof glowing in the light of the late afternoon sun, Gúthwyn was relieved, if only because now she could retire to her chambers and attempt to fall asleep. Perhaps then she would be able to temporarily forget the line that had been drawn between her and her child.

Yet it was not to be. Once they had led their horses into the stables, Gúthwyn escorted Haiweth to her room and all but ordered her to get some rest—after the girl had taken off her damp clothes and changed into new ones. She then went to find Hammel, but a servant told her that the boy had gone off with Cobryn and she knew it was too late for reconciliation. She then retreated to her quarters and ensconced herself in a nest of blankets, yet before she could fall asleep there was a knock on her door.

"Who is it?" she called, sighing as she did so.

"Éowyn and Éomer," her brother's voice filtered through the walls. "May we come in?"

Wondering what they wanted, Gúthwyn struggled to sit up as she replied, "Yes, you may."

The door opened an instant later, Éomer holding it for Éowyn. The White Lady entered and took one glance at Gúthwyn before hurrying over to the bed. "Sister, you look terrible!" she exclaimed, sitting down and placing a hand on Gúthwyn's forehead. The movement was more instinctual than anything, for they both knew that she was not physically ill. "Your face is so pale… How are you feeling?"

"I am fine," Gúthwyn whispered, watching Éomer out of the corner of her eye as the king pulled up a chair beside her. He carried a goblet in his hands.

"Stop lying," Éowyn commanded exasperatedly. "Why do you do that?"

Gúthwyn did not answer.

"Éomer told me about what Hammel said," Éowyn at length murmured, reaching out and stroking Gúthwyn's hair.

"He hates me," Gúthwyn whispered, wiping ineffectively at the tears that were beginning to creep down her cheeks. "I have tried to make amends, but he refuses…"

"Why?" Éowyn pressed gently, now placing her hand on Gúthwyn's shoulder. "What reason has he to loathe you?"

The answer, given so freely to Cobryn, stuck in the throat of Éomund's youngest daughter when she attempted to explain to her siblings. "I-I think h-h-he…" _No, I _know_,_ she corrected herself. "I mean, h-he…" Her shoulders shook with the sobs she was too ashamed to release. It was one thing to discuss this with Cobryn, who would never linger on the subject of Haldor and would only dwell upon how her relationship with Hammel had been affected by it. Yet Éowyn and Éomer were a different story—she had told them the full extent of the humiliation she had suffered under the Elf, and they would ask questions. Had Hammel ever seen her and Haldor together? No, she would say, but it did not matter. Had Hammel ever heard her talk about Haldor? No, she would tell them, but it did not matter.

"Sister, you need not be embarrassed," Éowyn murmured, attempting to draw Gúthwyn from her shell. "I promise you, we will not love you any less for whatever it is."

Her mothering tone only made Gúthwyn feel even more humiliated. She was a child; she did not deserve dignity. Indeed, she had none left. That was why silent tears were now streaming, unchecked, down her cheeks: no inner strength remained to stop them.

Just when she thought she could not endure Éowyn's interrogation any longer, Éomer came to her rescue and said what was teetering in mortification off the edge of her tongue. "Does he know anything about you and Haldor?"

_You and Haldor._ It sounded as if she and Haldor had been caught in a tryst to which both of them had consented. "Yes," she confirmed miserably. "He has said nothing outright, but it is obvious…"

"Yet not certain," Éowyn tried to assure her.

Gúthwyn shook her head. "He knows."

"Did he ever…" Éowyn trailed off, but words were not necessary to convey her meaning.

"He just knows," Gúthwyn reiterated. "Please, I do not want to discuss this!"

Éowyn and Éomer exchanged a look. "You should get some rest," Éowyn said at length, wiping some of the tears from the younger woman's face.

It was all Gúthwyn could do not to flinch. "I will try to," she promised, a childish part of her wishing that her siblings would stay with her. Their presence was soothing, a safeguard against the ghosts of her past. Without them, Haldor would return. She shivered.

"Here, drink this," Éomer spoke then, reaching out and offering her the goblet he bore. Gúthwyn looked at it, and then at him.

"What is it?" she asked suspiciously.

For a moment, Éomer's expression suggested that he was attempting to think of a lie, but at last he smiled ruefully and admitted, "It is a sleeping draught."

"This is the second time you have tried to drug me, brother," Gúthwyn replied, raising an eyebrow. "Ought I to be concerned?" Despite her cavalier tone, she found herself seriously considering Éomer's proposition. If it was a dreamless rest…

"It will keep the nightmares at bay," Éomer promised, his eyes meeting hers.

Gúthwyn held out her hand for the cup.

"It is not strong, so you shall only have a few hours," Éomer said as he gave it to her. "You will awake in time for dinner."

With a pained expression, Gúthwyn inquired, "Must I?"

"You have to eat, sister," Éowyn reminded her softly. "But for now, drink."

Gúthwyn obediently tipped her head back and drained the contents of the goblet. It was the same thing she had unknowingly consumed before, though far more diluted. She prayed it would be potent enough to do its work. "Good night," she said as she set down the cup, though it was only mid-afternoon.

"Sleep well," Éowyn told her.

The draught had been expertly brewed. No sooner had Gúthwyn laid her head against the pillow than she began to feel tired; within moments her eyelids were drooping, the urge to succumb overwhelming. She was drifting away, Éowyn and Éomer's forms blending together in a confusing blur. She stopped trying to make sense of it and closed her eyes, letting the darkness wash over her. It was not complete; light still filtered in from the candles she had lit, creating a comforting dimness that she was not afraid of.

As she surrendered to unconsciousness, she thought she heard Éomer saying something about feast preparations, but before she could puzzle over the matter she was no more.

* * *

><p>"Well?" Cobryn asked Hammel when they arrived at the clearing behind Meduseld. It was not the same that Gúthwyn used as a retreat—she had related the story of her cousin's training sessions and Cobryn had refrained from trodding upon such sacred ground—but one on the other side that would suit the advisor's purposes.<p>

Hammel kicked at the grass and did not say anything.

"I know Éomer has already informed you of how despicable your behavior was," Cobryn said, folding his arms across his chest, "so I see no need to elaborate. I want to know why."

Hammel glared at him. "Haiweth almost drowned because of Gúthwyn," he snapped. "That is why."

"No, it is not," Cobryn retorted sharply. "You have despised Gúthwyn—the woman, mind you, who would sacrifice everything for you without a second thought—for far too long for that to be true. You have another reason; do not lie to me."

"Why are _you_ confronting me instead of Gúthwyn?" Hammel demanded resentfully. "Is she too weak to do it herself?"

Swift as lightning, Cobryn backhanded the boy across the face. Hammel's head whipped to the side, but other than a flinch he betrayed no signs of pain. "Gúthwyn is a stronger person than you will ever be," Cobryn hissed. "You have no idea what she has endured!"

"Yes, I do," Hammel snarled. "She let Haldor walk all over her like the pathetic slave she was! You are fully aware that I am not blind to what happened, so do not look so taken aback! And now she is no different—all she ever does is obey! If Éomer told her to sleep in the stables, she would! What respect do I owe someone who has no backbone and spends every moment of her life trying to please everyone else?"

"The same respect you should give someone who handed herself over to the Dark Lord so that you and your sister could go free," Cobryn growled, disgusted by what he was hearing. "You foolish little boy, you know nothing of what you speak!"

Hammel's eyes flashed at the term "foolish little boy," as Cobryn had anticipated they would. "I have obviously failed as an instructor," the advisor continued, "if in encouraging intelligence I have cultivated ignorance and arrogance. Unlike Gúthwyn, I do not believe you were kept from the horrors of Mordor—yet regardless of what you saw, regardless of what happened to you, you have no right to take your hatred out on a vulnerable woman. You see perfectly well the confusion and hurt in her eyes whenever you snub her, and the fact that you evidently take delight in causing her pain is disturbing. What are you accomplishing by treating her so cruelly?"

There was a long silence. Hammel's eyes, which had widened at the mention of Mordor, were now but slits. "You would not understand," he muttered.

"I would not understand?" Cobryn repeated in disbelief. "Try me."

"You never went to Mordor," Hammel said accusingly. "You do not know what it is like there."

Cobryn snorted. "Nay, I worked at Isengard," he replied grimly, "and experienced its own set of horrors." He had long ago revealed to Hammel his former status as a laborer; that was no surprise. But now the boy watched him, waiting to see if the older man would divulge more. Hoping to gain Hammel's trust so that he could reach the bottom of the matter, Cobryn obliged. "Saruman was less powerful than Sauron, of that there is no doubt, yet the fact that there were fewer slaves at his disposal meant that he could keep a closer eye on us. The White Wizard himself personally brought the feistier slaves to our doorstep—no doubt having already forced them into submission." _Like Gúthwyn_, he thought.

"So?" Hammel asked, despite the fact that he was struggling to hide his fascination. Cobryn would have bet his life that Gúthwyn had not told the children where she had once lived—or that, if she had, she had never elaborated further.

"So?" he echoed. "I have seen friends being eaten alive by the Wargs Saruman kept, friends driven insane by the methods he used to punish them. I have seen the light disappear from a beautiful woman's eyes after she was noticed by an overseer, from a little girl's after an encounter with one of Saruman's henchmen. I have seen"—his voice nearly cracked—"I have seen my wife being led to her death, unable to do anything to save her or our unborn child."

Hammel froze. "Y-You were married?" he asked, taken aback for one of the first times in Cobryn's recollection.

"Yes," the advisor confirmed, briefly closing his eyes in memory of Feride. What he would not give to have had her experience the freedom that he now took for granted…

"I-I am sorry," Hammel murmured, looking truly sincere. Everything about his expression said that he wished he had not broached the subject. "I-I did n-not mean to…"

Cobryn waved the apology away. He did not want it. "Do not presume to judge someone," he replied, though not unkindly, "when you do not know what life has dealt them."

Hammel had the decency to appear abashed.

"Now," Cobryn said matter-of-factly, returning the conversation to safer ground, "last I checked you had not taken a wife in Mordor, so that still leaves the question of what happened to make you loathe Gúthwyn."

"I told you, she lets everyone order her around!" Hammel cried, instantly on the defense. His small shoulders were hunched, his thin frame shaking. "She has no spine—"

"No," Cobryn interrupted, holding up a hand to stop him. "You speak in the present. You have told me nothing that I am not already aware of."

"Why do you care?" Hammel lashed out. "Or are you just going to run to Gúthwyn when we are done and repeat to her everything I have said?"

The boy's breaths were coming short, his chest heaving up and down with an apparently enormous effort to remain calm.

"First of all, I do not run," Cobryn responded, tapping his injured leg. "Second of all, I will use my discretion. If there is something you do not wish for me to confide in her, and it is not to the harm of others, then I shall guard your secret with my life."

Hammel bit his lip, looking anywhere but at Cobryn. The advisor waited patiently, now curious as to what the boy might say. He had never shared Gúthwyn's naïve belief that the children had been utterly sheltered from the evils of Mordor, yet he had always abstained from pressing the issue—until now. The inner workings of Hammel's mind were perplexing, even to the man who had taught him for over half a decade, and Cobryn greatly desired to learn why the boy behaved the way he did. He had guesses, but not answers.

"You still do not know what it was like," Hammel finally said, his words seething with resentment. "You do not know what it was like to hear everyone making fun of her but to not realize why, to try and find out by following her when she left the tent one week and then seeing her and Haldor…" He broke off, his face contorting furiously.

Cobryn felt his mouth opening slightly. "Hammel—"

"He knew I was watching," Hammel pressed on, sounding as though he would be sick; "he saw me through the tent flap and he grinned at me… I wanted to look away, but I could not…"

The boy's eyes met Cobryn's, a silent plea for the advisor to understand. Cobryn nodded for him to continue, appalled—yet not surprised—by what he was hearing. "Gúthwyn was just lying there," Hammel muttered, sounding betrayed and bewildered, "and she never tried to stop him, even though he was hurting her…"

"She did not have a choice," Cobryn said, feeling the weight of Hammel's revelation settling onto his shoulders.

"But she did nothing!" Hammel cried angrily. "I kept waiting for her to push him away like she did with the other men, and she never did! She just let him—a-and then she started m-_moaning_, like she was enjoying it, and Haldor kissed her…"

Cobryn felt his blood boiling. He had little doubt that Haldor, having seen Hammel, had decided to orchestrate a sick, twisted show for the boy. He did not know much about the Elf, for Gúthwyn rarely spoke of him, but he would not put it past Haldor to create a scene in which she seemingly consented to his torture. To think he had been relieved that Gúthwyn would at least be safe from Gríma's advances in Mordor…

"Hammel," he said quietly, "Haldor had forced her into compliance. There was nothing she could do."

"But she did not even try," Hammel pointed out, kicking viciously at the ground. "All of the things the soldiers said about her were true."

"There is a difference between resignation and willingness," Cobryn pointed out swiftly, guessing that none of the men had had anything flattering to utter about his friend. "The fact that she did not fight means only that she knew better than to resist. It does not mean that she acquiesced."

Hammel shrugged, but did not offer to explain the gesture.

"Gúthwyn wanted none of what happened to her," Cobryn said forcefully, his gaze locking with Hammel's. "She never had a choice, but rest assured she would never have let him touch her if she were given one."

Hammel's eyes were closed, expressionless. "That was not always true."

Yet though Cobryn pressed him, the boy refused to elaborate. The interrogation soon ended. Cobryn let Hammel slip away, watching as the child disappeared into the crowd. As he did, he made the decision to never tell Gúthwyn the extent of Hammel's knowledge, to never reveal to her how her secret had been exposed. She would be horrified, humiliated. It would harm her, rather than help her, to learn the true reason behind Hammel's disgust.

Someday, Hammel would understand why Gúthwyn had submitted to Haldor, why she had not struggled when he raped her. It was a process not even Cobryn could facilitate; it had to happen on its own. In the meantime, the advisor had to return to Meduseld. There were feast preparations to attend to.


	12. Elfwine's Favorite Elf

**Chapter Twelve**

It felt as though Gúthwyn had barely fallen asleep before she was rudely awakened by something rapping on her head. "Cobryn, go away," she muttered, having been prodded by his cane often enough to recognize it with her eyes still closed.

"It is time for dinner," came the man's rebuttal. "Your presence is required."

Groaning, Gúthwyn attempted to pull the blankets around her, but before she had made significant headway they were snatched back. "Dinner," Cobryn reiterated as she shivered in the sudden cold.

"Fine," Gúthwyn grumbled, heaving a long-suffering sigh. Opening her eyes, she glared good-naturedly at her friend. "You seem to take great pleasure in robbing me of rest."

"Trust me, I do not enjoy rousing someone who has never been a morning person," Cobryn said teasingly. Gúthwyn would have shoved him had he been closer, but instead she resorted to a grimace.

"I will be out in a moment," she finally said. "I need to get dressed."

Cobryn nodded and left the room, though not without warning her that he would open the door in ten minutes whether she liked it or not—in other words, she was not to send him from her chambers and then burrow under the covers for a second round of sleep. Not wanting him to barge in on her while she was changing, Gúthwyn hastened to her wardrobe and pulled out the first gown her hand fell upon. It was blue, and thus hideously expensive; Éomer had bought it for her years ago, against her protestations. However, she had received a number of compliments on it, so obviously enough people thought it worth the purchase.

She now discarded the clothes she was wearing and slipped the dress on, relieved that there were no constricting stays. As she worked, she wondered what Cobryn had said to Hammel—dare she ask?

_Of course I should,_ she decided. _Hammel is all but my son; I have every right to know._

Unwilling to further cloud her thoughts, once she had made her decision Gúthwyn attempted to focus her mind on something else. She debated wearing a coronet, and then set it back in the drawer; she fiddled with a bracelet, at last discarding it; she ran a comb through her hair, making a half-hearted effort at looking presentable. She simply did not have the patience other women did to sit for hours with a brush as her only company, as she could think of a million other ways that she would rather spend her time.

After ten minutes had gone by, Cobryn knocked, said, "I am coming in," and waited only for a confirmative answer before entering. "Are you ready?" he inquired.

Putting down the brush, Gúthwyn nodded. Yet as Cobryn turned towards the door, she placed a hand on his arm, stopping him. "What did you tell Hammel?" she questioned when he looked at her.

"It was a continuation of Éomer's reprimand," Cobryn replied. "A longer, more pointed continuation."

"Did he say anything about why?" Gúthwyn asked, half-dreading the answer.

Cobryn shook his head, glancing at the door. "I believe his remarks stemmed largely from worry about Haiweth, not from what you suggested."

"Cobryn—" He was wrong. She knew he was wrong.

"Come, it is your birthday," her friend interrupted her. "An occasion that should be celebrated, not spent fretting over the past. Walk with me."

Relenting, she acknowledged the sense in his words and agreed to follow him out of her quarters. As they passed through the hall, she thought she could hear a loud murmur coming from the throne room, as if a large number of people were speaking in quiet voices.

"Is there a meeting going on?" she questioned Cobryn, confused.

"No," was Cobryn's response.

"Then what—"

At that moment, they entered the great hall. Gúthwyn only caught a glimpse of the hundreds of people crowded inside before her ears were nearly split with a deafening roar. Shocked, she gaped first at the Eorlingas and then at Cobryn. "Éomer did not tell me we were having a feast!" she exclaimed, now relieved that she had chosen one of her better gowns.

"It was a surprise," Cobryn said, grinning at her reaction. "Can you not hear what they are saying?"

He gestured, and as Gúthwyn listened she found that she could make out several shouts of "Happy birthday, my lady!" amongst the yells.

Her astonishment turned into the beginnings of a smile as she realized that she would be spending the rest of her birthday with her people. A blush spread across her cheeks at the thought that they had been involved in this, that at some point or another they all must have sworn to keep this a secret from her. How much work had Éomer put into this? She prayed not too much.

"They came in while you were sleeping," Cobryn explained, chuckling at her amazement. "Éomer told them about the feast only a few hours ago."

Gúthwyn could not help but feel pleased as she and Cobryn began walking through the crowd, their progress slow on account of her exchanging greetings with several of the Eorlingas. What better way to celebrate an otherwise dreary occasion than with those whom she loved most?

When at last they made it to the high table, Éowyn was the first to get to her feet and embrace the younger woman. "Happy birthday, baby sister," she murmured in Gúthwyn's ear. Faramir awkwardly half-stood, but just as quickly sat back down, appearing reluctant to intrude. "Did you sleep well?"

"Yes, I did," Gúthwyn replied, returning the hug. "Thank you so much."

"Come, sit!" Éomer bade them both, grinning from his place beside Lothíriel. The queen was not so happy; her eyes glittered dangerously when Elfwine squirmed out of her lap and slid to the floor.

"Gúthy!" the toddler cried, crawling under the table and, emerging from the other end, launching himself at Éomund's youngest daughter.

Laughing, Gúthwyn bent down and picked him up. "Little one, I have missed you!" she said earnestly, though it had only been a few hours since her last sighting of him.

As she spoke her eyes traveled over to the children, who were not too far away. Both of them were, for all appearances, far more subdued than normal. Hammel's demeanor was less approachable than ever, and Haiweth for once was speaking to neither him nor Cobryn. Gúthwyn exchanged a worried glance with the advisor, who had just sat down. He gave a small shrug.

"Gúthy," Elfwine began petulantly, irritated that her attention had wandered while she was holding him, "you gone whole day! Where you go?"

"I was sleeping," Gúthwyn explained, looking amusedly at Éomer as she sat down across from him.

"No sleep!" Elfwine was appalled. "Play!"

"That is what makes little ones such as yourself very tired," Gúthwyn said, poking him in the stomach. He squealed and giggled. "All you do is play!"

"Play good," Elfwine affirmed smugly. "Sleep bad."

Éomer groaned. "That is just what I need him saying," he muttered.

"Do not worry, brother," Gúthwyn replied merrily. "Elfwine is a good boy, are you not?"

The query was directed to her nephew, who beamed from his perch on her lap. "Effine _is_ a good boy!" he parroted.

"A good boy who goes to bed when his father tells him to?"

Elfwine nodded, albeit reluctantly and only after further prodding from Gúthwyn. "I s'pose," he mumbled.

Éomund's youngest daughter fell in love with him all over again.

* * *

><p>The meal went smoothly. After the Eorlingas had assumed their seats on the several benches that had been arranged throughout the hall, Éomer ordered the dinner to be brought out. To Gúthwyn's delight, a solid half of the dishes contained no trace of meat; to her surprise and wonder, she consumed an entire plateful of food, and even had seconds of the bread.<p>

No one was more pleased by this than she—not even Éowyn, Éomer, and Cobryn, all of whom gave her appraising looks when they saw how much she had eaten. Gúthwyn's cheer was infectious and spread quickly to her nephew, who was so boisterous that at one point she had to simply lower him down and let him run around the table. Lothíriel had thoroughly given up on controlling him and, save for a few irritated glances in Gúthwyn's direction, chose to ignore her son's antics.

When the plates were cleared, Elfwine consented to return to his father's care, namely because Éomer had promised to tell him a story. As tempted as Gúthwyn was to listen to her brother's tale, she seized the opportunity to pull Haiweth aside for a moment.

"How are you, little one?" she asked quietly—or as quietly as she could in the midst of a feast. The two of them had retreated to the end of the high table, which had been vacated by Faramir's men. Most of the Rangers had gone to mingle with the Rohirrim, or else had chosen locations where they would be closer to the still. They would not return anytime soon.

"I am fine," Haiweth responded, folding her arms across her chest—protectively, Gúthwyn noticed.

"Are you sure?" Éomund's daughter pressed. She suddenly felt horribly guilty for having allowed Éomer to drug her. What had Haiweth been doing for all those hours while she was asleep? How could she have simply left the girl like that, with no one to comfort her?

"I am fine," Haiweth reiterated, her eyes darting over Gúthwyn's shoulder. "May I go play with Alwyn?"

Repressing the urge to sigh, Gúthwyn nodded. "Be careful," she called as Haiweth slipped away into the crowd, but the girl appeared to not have heard.

Her spirits deflated, Gúthwyn turned in a slow circle, wondering what to do next. Would she return to the high table and converse with Éomer? She did not particularly wish to be near Lothíriel, although holding her nephew would be a comfort. Perhaps she would seek the company of her friends; a few extra rumors would not kill her already dying reputation. Yet none of these options seemed to satisfy her. After a time she stopped spinning aimlessly and, almost immediately, someone approached her.

"May I have this dance?"

Legolas appeared before her, gesturing to the space that had been cleared for the numerous couples in varying states of drunkenness. Gúthwyn did not mind that her people indulged on an occasion such as this: she did not fear them, and it was amusing to see how the more imbibed were the least embarrassed about their lack of dancing skills. In light of Imrahil's visit the Eorlingas were aware of their deficiencies in the fine arts, but no one besides Lothíriel cared.

"You may," she told Legolas, and then blushed. "I do not know the steps."

"Do you ever?" Legolas asked with a faint smile on his face, and she had to concede that he was right; nor would it prevent them from trying.

He led her towards the mass of couples, several of whom were being given a wide berth due to their energetic dancing. Together they found a spot that was a safe distance away from the more inebriated, secluded enough to allow them to move at the slower pace Éomund's daughter required. Gúthwyn briefly regretted not making an effort to learn how to at least waltz, but such ruefulness disappeared rather quickly—Legolas was a patient instructor, and certainly did not think less of her for needing his tutelage.

"How is Haiweth doing?" was his first inquiry, posed after they had gotten into position.

"Fine, thank you," Gúthwyn said, automatically. Her next words were more genuine. "Thank you… thank you so much for rescuing her. I-I do not know w-what I would have done if—" She felt sick at the very thought, and could not continue.

"Do not speak of it," Legolas bade her earnestly.

"You must understand," Gúthwyn began, wanting desperately for him to be aware of what his actions had meant to her. She could not convey her gratitude through affection, for the instinct to embrace him was overridden by her fears, and yet her voice was an inadequate replacement. If only she had the gift of words to rival Cobryn's! "Haiweth means everything to me," she nevertheless tried to explain, "and I would never have forgiven myself if she had—if you had not…"

It suddenly occurred to her that they were not keeping time with the music, but rather moving in a slow circle. As she struggled to blink the tears from her eyes, she was grateful that it was so, for she did not have the capacity to both speak of such a sensitive topic and dance as if nothing were wrong.

Legolas appeared genuinely concerned with her evident distress. "Please," he said, placing a finger over her lips. The touch was so brief and light that she could have blinked and missed both the sight and sensation of it, but she did not and it thus succeeded in freezing her mid-speech and mid-step.

"S-Sorry," she whispered after a panicked moment, realizing that she must have been babbling. "I-I—"

"Haiweth is safe now," Legolas replied firmly, his eyes holding hers. Unable to look away, Gúthwyn felt as if she were drowning under his piercing blue gaze: her breath caught in her throat, and she was just as incapable of moving as she had been when he shushed her. She blamed herself for this weakness as the Elf continued, "You need not worry for her."

Gúthwyn nodded mutely, embarrassed by her near-hysteria. "I-I am sorry," she apologized.

"Now you are forgetting our agreement," Legolas said, chuckling.

Éomund's daughter flushed. "Forgive me," she almost responded, but bit her lip just in time. Almost without her noticing it, they had begun to dance again; she tried to concentrate on the steps, more often than not failing miserably.

Legolas did not comment on her mistakes, simply guiding her back into place whenever she strayed and never once appearing frustrated. "It was good to see you smile today," he at length remarked, his eyes lifting from his boots—she had just stepped on them—to meet her own.

Gúthwyn had been about to apologize for her mistake when his words sank in. She stopped, puzzled, and then looked at him. "Really?" was all she could think to say. Part of her was flustered, unsure of what he truly meant. It was this part that produced the blush on her cheeks.

Legolas helped her through a turn. "I am sure many people have told you this," he began slowly, "but when you smile it is impossible to feel unaffected."

Tun had once made this confession to her. Hearing it from Legolas had the same effect—she was embarrassed, pleased, and tongue-tied, all in one confused woman's body. She did not for an instant doubt that, had Éowyn been in her place, the White Lady would have had a charming or clever response. But Gúthwyn was not her sister, and she found herself fumbling.

"Elfwine makes me happy," she finally spoke, stupidly.

"I know," Legolas replied, though without condescension. "And I am glad for it."

They continued dancing, the hands that had once barely touched now interlaced.

* * *

><p>Elfwine was bored.<p>

Ever since Gúthy had left, there was no one to play with. Papa's story was done and he was talking to Mama, but Elfwine didn't understand what they were saying—only that they were ignoring him. He crossly stuck his tongue out and looked at the Effs. He liked the Effs. His favorite Eff was Leggy, but Leggy was gone. Ran-in and Tree-on and Fye-on were there, though. He waved at them, wanting to play. Tree-on waved back.

A playmate! Elfwine squirmed in Papa's lap. Mama noticed.

"_No_, Elfwine," she said sternly.

Elfwine stared up at Mama and hated her for being so mean. She never let him touch her hair or do anything he wanted. She didn't like Gúthy and she said bad things about her when they were alone, but Elfwine didn't know what they meant and he didn't know how to ask Gúthy. Worst of all, Mama was always busy. Mama never had time to play battle, like Gúthy did. Mama didn't even want to play battle. Papa sometimes joined him, which he liked, but when Mama was there she just watched him and didn't help.

"Mama," he whined angrily, "play!"

"_No_, Elfwine, you are not leaving the dinner table."

"Want Gúthy," Elfwine snapped. Gúthy would know what to do. Gúthy would have toys or games or stories or other fun things that Elfwine liked.

"Gúthwyn is gone," Mama said.

Elfwine hated her eyes. They were scary.

"Papa," he pleaded, "where Gúthy go?"

Papa put his hand on Elfwine's head. When he did this he always rubbed it back and forth quickly, which made Elfwine laugh. He did it now. "Your aunt is dancing," he said.

Elfwine remembered something just then. "Gúthy's birthday! We shares birthday!"

"That you do," Papa said.

"Want Gúthy," Elfwine asserted. "Gúthy now, peas."

"When she is done dancing."

Elfwine didn't think much of this. Why would Gúthy be doing anything when she could play with him instead? He didn't understand Gúthy sometimes. She was sad a lot. Elfwine didn't like that. He loved Gúthy, so she should be happy! And sometimes Gúthy was afraid. Elfwine tried not to be scared when Gúthy was, but it was hard. Gúthy didn't like the Effs.

"Papa, when done?"

"I do not know."

Elfwine pouted, and then realized that he could play a game: find Gúthy!

"Papa, play with me!"

"We have guests, Elfwine," Papa said. Unlike Mama, he sounded sorry. "Can you say hello to Aunt Éowyn and Uncle Faramir?"

'Wyn! Elfwine had almost forgotten about Auntie 'Wyn. "'Wyn!" he shouted, staring at her. He liked Auntie 'Wyn almost as much as he liked Gúthy—almost.

"Hello, Elfwine," Auntie 'Wyn said, smiling as she waved at him. Elfwine liked Auntie 'Wyn's smile almost as much as he liked Gúthy's.

"How about your Uncle Faramir?" Papa coaxed.

Elfwine glared at Far'mir. Stupid Far'mir. Gúthy didn't like Far'mir. Gúthy _hated_ Far'mir. Far'mir was boring and didn't play right, so Elfwine didn't like him either. "No," Elfwine said, sticking his tongue out.

"Elfwine, be nice to your uncle," Mama ordered him.

"No."

"Do you want a time—"

"Oh, there is Gúthwyn!" Papa said.

"_Gúthy?_" Elfwine shouted, trying to stand up on Papa's lap. Papa wouldn't let him.

"She is dancing with Legolas," Papa said, and Auntie 'Wyn and Far'mir turned around.

"Leggy?" Elfwine echoed. Leggy was his friend! "Papa, me see!"

Only then did Papa hoist him up and let him stand. Elfwine stared everywhere for Gúthy, worried when he didn't see her. Had Gúthy disappeared? No, there she was. Gúthy and Leggy were holding hands like Mama and Papa did, but their legs were moving and they were turning and they looked funny. A good funny, though. Elfwine liked that Gúthy was smiling, and decided that Leggy was the best Eff if he made Gúthy happy.

It seemed to take _forever_, but finally Gúthy and Leggy stopped moving and came back. Elfwine squealed, reaching. "Gúthy!"

"Little one!" she replied, grinning as she sat down next to Papa. Elfwine laughed. He was her little one, her only little one. Stupid High-eth wasn't little, she was big. Anyone could see that.

"Gúthy mine!" he told Papa, wanting to sit on her lap. Gúthy told the best stories.

"Would you mind holding him?" Papa asked Gúthy. Elfwine knew what that meant. Any minute now, Gúthy would be all his!

"Of course not," Gúthy said.

Elfwine giggled as he was passed from Papa to Gúthy. Gúthy was smaller than Papa, but she held him tighter and Elfwine liked that better. Gúthy also let him play with her hair more, which he did now. He wished Gúthy was his mama. Even if Gúthy was sad a lot, she was still happier than _his_ mama. His mama sometimes cried when Papa was gone and she thought Elfwine was asleep. She said that she missed home, but home was here so Elfwine didn't know what she meant.

"Little one, can you say hello to Legolas?"

Elfwine looked, and there was Leggy! He was sitting right next to Gúthy, and Elfwine hadn't noticed him until now. "Leggy!" he exclaimed, waving. He sometimes wanted to play with Leggy's hair, which was the same color as Auntie 'Wyn's, but Gúthy didn't like him touching Leggy. "Leggy, I sees you and Gúthy! Papa says you dance!"

Gúthy's cheeks looked different. They were pink!

"Yes," Leggy said. "I asked your aunt for a dance and she was kind enough to oblige me."

Elfwine didn't know what _oblige_ meant, but he knew that Gúthy was happy. "You dance with Gúthy more," he told Leggy. "She likes it."

Gúthy's cheeks were red. Elfwine had just learned red last week, and he wondered if Gúthy's cheeks could turn other colors. So far, he had seen white, pink, and red. He didn't like white, because Gúthy was never happy when she was white. Sometimes Gúthy was angry when she was red, so Elfwine decided that he liked pink the best. But right now, red wasn't bad at all.

Especially when Gúthy was happy because of Leggy.


	13. Each Note of Laughter

**Chapter Thirteen**

"Go away!"

The sound of her nephew's irritable squabbling met Gúthwyn's ears as she stepped into the throne room mid-morning, still somewhat tired after the previous night's feast. She was wearing yet another blue gown, a horrifyingly expensive present Éomer had given her before she went to bed. It fit her remarkably well, she had to admit—it was not designed for someone with curves—but she wished he had not spent so much money.

"Go away!" Elfwine repeated, his voice breaking into her thoughts. Wondering what was bothering her nephew this time, Gúthwyn scanned the hall for him. At first she saw nothing; then she realized that he was on the floor, playing with his toy soldiers behind a table.

"I cannot go away," Faramir's voice replied. Gúthwyn froze, and then strode towards Elfwine as quickly as possible. The Steward was crouched down beside her nephew, his mannerisms suggesting nothing less than utter annoyance. "Your mother has asked me to watch over you."

"Care less," Elfwine snapped, whacking angrily at his infantry. "You boring. Where 'Wyn?"

"She is walking with your parents," Faramir answered, sounding as though he wished he were doing so, also.

"No!" Elfwine exclaimed, on the verge of a temper tantrum. "I want—_Gúthy!_"

Faramir turned swiftly when he realized that his nephew's attention had been diverted, and his eyes narrowed as they fell upon Éomund's youngest daughter. "My lady," he said stiffly.

"My lord," Gúthwyn acknowledged him coolly before kneeling down and opening her arms. Elfwine came running towards her, launching himself over the last couple of feet and laughing happily. "Little one, are you misbehaving for the Steward?" She hugged him, planting several kisses on the top of his head.

"_I_ good boy," Elfwine defended himself staunchly, after he had gotten his fill of affection. Wriggling a hand free from Gúthwyn's embrace, he pointed accusingly at Faramir. "He no play right! Don't like him."

"He would not let me play with him," Faramir spoke, his frustration spilling over into his speech. Gúthwyn looked at her sister's husband and raised an eyebrow, then glanced at Elfwine.

"Sometimes you have to share your toys, little one," she told him dutifully, though secretly she was thrilled that her nephew also disliked the Steward. Did that make her a terrible person? She hoped not.

"I shares with you!" Elfwine protested immediately. "I shares with you, and Papa, and Leggy, and 'Wyn! But no Far'mir." He glared at his uncle, directing his next words to the older man. "I no like you. Gúthy hate you, too. You go away and no come back."

"What is this?" Faramir demanded suddenly, getting to his feet. He stared straight at Gúthwyn, who tried not to flinch under his cold gaze. "Are you not content with alienating your sister, with nearly killing me on the training grounds? Are you so bent on revenge for a mistake I made six years ago that you have now poisoned my nephew against me?"

Startled, Elfwine clutched at Gúthwyn's leg. His eyes filled with tears.

"Look at what you have done!" Gúthwyn hissed, drawing the poor child into her arms again and rubbing his back soothingly. She then stood, wanting to be on equal ground—well, as equal as she could get when she was a foot shorter than Faramir. "How dare you accuse me of manipulating my brother's son? You are not worth the trouble it would take me to do so!"

"You know fully well what you are doing!" Faramir countered, his features hardened in disgust. "If you were truly innocent, as you claim, Elfwine would never have just told me that you hate me! Your petty behavior is despicable. I have tried again and again to make amends for what happened, but you continue to insist on undermining me at every opportunity available! Borogor is dead, Gúthwyn, and nothing you do will ever bring him back!"

His words hit Gúthwyn like a slap in the face—only worse, because they also grabbed what was left of her heart and crushed it into a million pieces.

"Gúthy, who Bor'gor?" Elfwine asked curiously. "He your friend?"

Gúthwyn thought she would be sick. She staggered away from Faramir, unable to do anything besides shake her head, though what she was denying she did not know. She could not breathe.

"_Gúthy_," Elfwine whined in the distance, barely heard over the pounding of her ears, "who Bor'gor, peas?"

"No, Elfwine," she whispered, swallowing. "Not now…"

Faramir stood there, watching her, and she knew she had to get away. If she did not, she would either kill the Steward for his insolence or, worse, cry. "Come, little one," she said to her nephew, blinking rapidly so as to preempt any tears that might have been hovering at the threshold of her eyelids. "We are going outside to play."

For once, Elfwine was not distracted by the promise of leaving the Golden Hall. He was glaring furiously at Faramir instead. "You makes Gúthy sad!" the toddler accused, pointing a finger at the man. "I tell on you!"

"No, Elfwine," Gúthwyn hastily murmured in the child's ear. The last thing she needed was for Éomer to inquire as to who Bor'gor was.

"But Gúthy," Elfwine said plaintively, bewildered by her negation, "Far'mir mean! I tell on him!"

"_No,_ Elfwine," Gúthwyn repeated, so firmly that Elfwine wilted in disappointment.

"Fine, Gúthy," he mumbled unhappily.

"We are leaving now," Gúthwyn told him.

When Elfwine did not protest, Gúthwyn began walking slowly towards the Steward, who was between her and her way out. Before she had gone too far she bent down and picked a toy at random from the ground for Elfwine to play with; her fingers closed around Legolas's horse without her realizing it. As she straightened, she looked directly at Faramir.

"Do not ever say that name again," she ordered, her voice low and dangerous. "If I hear _anyone_ uttering it I will know who is to blame, and I warn you, Captain, that from there on you will be treading very thin ice. Do you understand me?"

Faramir stepped closer. "When will this end?" he asked, looking weary—not for the first time in her recent memory. "When does it stop?"

"When I die," Gúthwyn said bluntly. "Unless you go first."

With that she swept out of the throne room, Elfwine sticking his tongue out at Faramir over her shoulder.

* * *

><p>"Gúthy, I no like Far'mir."<p>

Halfway through pulling up a bucket of well water for Arod, Legolas paused as he heard a familiar voice.

"I know, little one."

"He mean, like Mama."

"Elfwine, your mother loves you," came Gúthwyn's reply, though there was a hesitation before she responded. Legolas finished drawing the water and scanned the crowd for the young prince and his aunt, setting the container on the edge of the well while he did. He was half-hidden behind a thirsty Arod and a group of women debating the best way to get horse smell out of clothing, but when he looked he caught a glimpse of the toddler between some soldiers' legs. Elfwine was meandering down the street, his arm raised. His hand must have been holding Gúthwyn's, for a blue skirt that Legolas thought he recognized followed shortly after.

"Mama too busy. She no have time," Elfwine asserted staunchly.

"Running a kingdom is a very difficult task," Gúthwyn replied patiently, though her words had the air of someone who spoke without conviction.

"I care less. Gúthy, where we go?"

"Anywhere but Meduseld," Legolas thought he heard the woman say.

"What, Gúthy?" Elfwine's ears were not as sensitive.

"Anywhere," Gúthwyn repeated, more audibly.

Realizing that he had been lurking behind Arod for quite some time, Legolas stepped out further into the street. Gúthwyn saw him first; she stopped, drawing Elfwine's attention, and stiffened ever so briefly. When Elfwine shrieked "Leggy!", however, her face relaxed, and with a small laugh she waved.

As Legolas walked towards her, Elfwine was the first to initiate conversation. "Leggy, I play with your horse!" he announced, jabbing the carved animal into the air. "You makes it!"

"It is his favorite toy," Gúthwyn muttered over Elfwine's head, smiling down at the child. Legolas observed that the color of her eyes was enhanced by her gown, but a brighter blue than usual—as if she had been crying, or on the verge of doing so.

"I am glad to hear it," he replied, pretending not to notice. She would deny everything if he confronted her, especially in front of Elfwine, and he did not want to make her uncomfortable. He would place a discreet inquiry as soon as he had the opportunity—perhaps when he next met her on the landing of Meduseld in the dead of night.

"Leggy, what your horse name?" Elfwine asked then, pointing curiously at Arod. Arod was protectively guarding the bucket of water, knowing that the quenching of his thirst would be delayed if someone took it. As it were, he was clearly exasperated that Legolas had left the well.

"His name is Arod," Legolas answered, smiling at the child. "Would you like to meet him?"

Elfwine's eyes grew round as dinner plates. "I play with Arod?"

Gúthwyn blushed. "That is not necessary, really—"

Legolas nodded at Elfwine. "Will you come with me?" he then asked Gúthwyn, knowing that her consent was critical. When she hesitated, he gestured towards Arod, reminding her that the horse was only a few feet away.

"_Peas_, Gúthy?" Elfwine wheedled. Legolas would not have been surprised if the toddler had clasped his hands together in supplication and looked up at his aunt through his long lashes. While the young prince did not, the effect on Gúthwyn was no less potent. She visibly melted in adoration, unable to keep from grinning at her nephew.

"If you must, little one," she replied, though her tone was anything other than suffering.

"Dank you, Gúthy!" Elfwine cried, hugging her legs in rapturous delight. He then broke free and ran over to Legolas, stopping just short of the affection he had shown his aunt. "Me horse?"

Legolas was not entirely sure what the toddler meant by "me horse," but he nevertheless beckoned for Elfwine to follow him. Gúthwyn fell into step beside him, keeping a close watch on her nephew. When they came to the well, Legolas poured the water from the bucket into a communal trough that had been attached to one end, much to Arod's gratification.

Elfwine reached out to touch Arod's legs as the horse began drinking, but Gúthwyn pulled him back. "No, Elfwine," she said firmly.

The toddler pouted. "But Gúthy, I want!"

"No," Gúthwyn repeated. Legolas could not help agreeing: while they both knew that Arod was perfectly safe, it was better not to chance Elfwine getting accidentally kicked or stepped on while he darted under the horse.

"Leggy, I touch?" Elfwine pleaded, stepping forward and lifting his arms up.

Legolas started—he had only seen the toddler making that gesture when he wanted to be carried. Now Thranduil's son faced a quandary: should he oblige, and elevate the young prince so that he could stroke Arod's mane, yet meanwhile risk frightening Gúthwyn? It would make Elfwine happy, but the same could not be said for his aunt. And what if Legolas did not hold the child properly? He was unable to remember the last time someone had placed so much as an infant in his hands.

"Elfwine, no!" Gúthwyn exclaimed as she, too, realized what the boy wanted. Her cheeks were flaming red, burning even more when she met Legolas's eye, but she seemed reluctant to step closer and draw her nephew back.

Sensing a disturbance in his quest, Elfwine flung his arms around Legolas's thigh and squeezed as hard as he could. Legolas registered the assault as a faint pressure on his leg and a horrified expression on Gúthwyn's face. "_Peas_, Leggy?" Elfwine begged, oblivious to the others' reactions.

Gúthwyn looked as though she were about to faint in mortification.

"Of course, my friend," Legolas finally said, bending down and hoisting the child up into his arms. Elfwine shrieked; at first, Legolas feared that he had done something wrong, but then he realized that the young prince was delighted to find himself taller.

"Touch!" he ordered, and Legolas obliged as though it were the most natural thing in Middle-earth. The warm weight in his hands wriggled and giggled happily, straining to reach the horse. Arod did not object when at last Elfwine's tiny fingers ensnared themselves in his mane, but rather patiently endured the irritation.

"Little one, do not pull at Arod's hair," Gúthwyn admonished gently, standing beside Legolas so that she could put a restraining hand on her nephew's. Up close, she had a pleasant smell—it was not the fragrance of perfumes he knew she never used, but something clean and refreshing; soap, he decided, that must be it.

Meanwhile, Elfwine was puzzled. "But I pull your hair, Gúthy," he protested.

"Arod is not a human," Gúthwyn replied, biting back a smile. She reached over and took the toy horse from Elfwine's limp grasp, storing it safely inside her pocket when the boy did not protest. "You must treat him better than you do your aunt."

Legolas chuckled to hear that. Despite her words, Gúthwyn would never dream of complaining about her nephew. She loved him as if he were her own child.

"I pull?" Elfwine pleaded, his fingers still in Arod's mane. "Peas?"

"No, little one," Gúthwyn said firmly, and that was the end of that. Elfwine scowled briefly as he withdrew his hand, but then his eyes fell upon the saddle.

"Me sit? Peas?"

Legolas glanced at Gúthwyn, who raised her eyebrows back at him. "With your permission," he said to her.

Sensing weakness, Elfwine went in for the kill. "_Peas_, Gúthy?" he begged, in a voice that Legolas could have sworn was calculated to produce maximum sympathy in the hearts of the listener.

Gúthwyn sighed, although not in exasperation. "I _suppose_, if you absolutely must," she replied with a grin.

Elfwine beamed. "Dank you, Gúthy!" he cried ecstatically. Grinning, Legolas lifted the young prince onto the saddle. As he did so, Gúthwyn slipped from his side so that she could prevent Elfwine from falling to the left. With Legolas at the child's right, there was no risk of injury. Arod was remarkably well-behaved, and would not so much as move a muscle unless Legolas commanded it.

Although Elfwine's delight at being seated upon a horse was unequaled in that moment, Legolas caught himself watching not the toddler, but rather the woman whose hands were hovering behind her charge. Gúthwyn's eyes were so focused on Elfwine that she never detected Legolas's scrutiny; Thranduil's son smiled to see the naked adoration in her gaze, the untarnished love for her nephew that brought a light to her otherwise pale face. Whatever had cast a pall over her features earlier was gone, replaced by utter enchantment.

When Gúthwyn at last noticed him watching her, she blushed, her cheeks a delicate pink as she immediately looked at the ground. Legolas berated himself for making her flustered, but was nevertheless glad that he had witnessed her happiness. He still remembered the days when she had hidden herself in cloaks and scarves as black as her countenance, the months that had passed without a kind word from her.

It took Gúthwyn a full minute to glance at him again. Upon realizing that she was still the subject of his attention, her skin turned bright red and she blurted out, "What is it?"

"I was marveling at how much you enjoy your nephew's company," Legolas replied.

Elfwine was safe territory—Gúthwyn's expression immediately cleared. "Of course I do!" she exclaimed, grinning. "What sort of aunt would I be if I did not?"

"No aunt," Elfwine answered.

Peals of laughter resounded in the air, the sound pleasing to Legolas's ears. It was not often that he heard such carefree mirth from Gúthwyn; each occasion was a treasured rarity.

"That is correct, little one," Éomund's daughter responded when she had stopped giggling. "No aunt."

Proud of himself for having said the right answer, Elfwine beamed and then pointed at Gúthwyn. "You my aunt," he affirmed. "You stay here forever."

"I will, little one," Gúthwyn promised. "I will."

"Leggy, too!" Elfwine cried, turning in the saddle and jabbing his finger in Legolas's direction. "Forever!"

"Leggy has to go back to his home," Gúthwyn said—Legolas could not tell whether her use of his nickname was subconscious or intentional. When she winked at him, he knew it was the latter.

Elfwine was shaking his head. "Leggy need stay," he declared. "Arod stay, too. I like Arod."

"You will be seeing more of me, my friend," Legolas informed the toddler, "of that I can assure you. Arod, as well."

Elfwine clapped gleefully. "Leggy, you _my_ friend," he said emphatically. "Then Fye-on, then Tree-on, then Ran-in! But you my favorite."

Legolas would have given anything to see the expression on Raniean's face if his friend could hear Elfwine rambling on about Fye-on, Tree-on, Ran-in, and Leggy.

"I am sorry about the nickname," Gúthwyn apologized then, her voice sheepish. "One of the, ah, guards was jesting with my nephew and it stuck."

Chuckling, Legolas inquired, "May I ask which?"

Gúthwyn hesitated, but Elfwine grinned. "Tun!" the toddler proudly exclaimed. "Tun my friend, too! He friends with Gúthy, so I friends with him."

Legolas cast a sidelong glance at Gúthwyn, wondering about her champion. Although Tun had married another woman after his proposal to the king's sister was turned down—apparently to the shock of all the inhabitants of Edoras, who were collectively under the impression that the love between them was mutual—it seemed to be common knowledge that his feelings for her had not lessened. Legolas did not believe that Gúthwyn returned them, at least not in more than a friendly sense, but sometimes he could not tell.

However, her appearance today did not betray anything other than anxiety for her champion's sake. "You will not trouble him, will you?" she questioned Legolas worriedly, placing a trembling hand on Elfwine's back. "He did not have spiteful intentions, he was only playing with Elfwine."

Keenly attuned to his aunt's distress, Elfwine bit his lip and stared at Legolas. _Gúthy scared_, Legolas thought he saw the toddler mouth at him.

"I understand," Thranduil's son hastened to assure Éomund's daughter, somewhat taken aback by Elfwine's perceptiveness. "I am not irritated with him; I find the name amusing."

Although she attempted to hide it, Gúthwyn's sigh of relief was audible. "Thank you," she said, some color returning to her cheeks.

"Gúthy, you silly," Elfwine announced, and then reached out for her. "I play with Arod tomorrow?" he asked Legolas. "I done now."

As Gúthwyn gathered her nephew into her arms, Legolas confirmed that Arod would be ready the next afternoon. "Does he ride yet?" he queried of Gúthwyn.

"Éomer always has him in his lap," Gúthwyn replied, shaking her head, "but he will start learning soon."

Elfwine visibly straightened. "Then I lead army!" he cried, bouncing up and down as far as his constraints would let him. "I be warrior, like Papa!"

"Someday, little one," Gúthwyn murmured indulgently, planting a soft kiss on the child's equally soft brow. "But first you must learn to stay on a horse."

Elfwine scoffed. "Easy," he said dismissively.

Again, Gúthwyn laughed. Legolas enjoyed seeing her do so, and a smile came to his face as he watched her interaction with Elfwine. The woman had come so far since her dealings with the Enemy, and he dared to hope that one day she would see him as someone other than the mirror image of her tormentor. He thought she was close; yet fleeting shadows still lurked behind her eyes, waiting to emerge at an instant's notice. With each visit they seemed to retreat a little further away, but it had taken six years to reach this point and more time was needed before they disappeared completely. He only prayed that it would not be long—he wanted to get to know the Gúthwyn her family saw, once the Gúthwyn who lived in constant fear allowed her to break free.

_Someday_, he promised himself, as Gúthwyn had just told Elfwine.

Until then, he would content himself with each smile, each note of laughter, each blush of happiness; especially so, if he had brought them about.


	14. A Conspiracy Unveiled

**Chapter Fourteen**

"Papa," Elfwine whined at breakfast from his father's lap, "where's Gúthy?"

Éomer grimaced. Gúthwyn had gotten better at rising before noon within the past year, but it was not yet a rare occasion that her sleep schedule temporarily reverted to its old ways and had her stumbling, bleary-eyed, into the throne room well past lunch. On those days, Elfwine, who had clearly taken after his aunt and was not one for mornings, was even surlier than usual.

Anticipating his son's reaction to the news that Gúthwyn would evidently be late to the table, Éomer sighed before answering, "She is still in bed."

Elfwine frowned, his brown eyes narrowed in bewilderment. "Why? I want her."

_Well, you cannot have her,_ Éomer was sorely tempted to say, having been through this routine dozens of times already. Nevertheless, he held back the retort. "Unlike you, son," he instead replied, "your aunt likes to get a good night's rest once in awhile."

"But why?" Elfwine repeated suspiciously. "Sleep boring, like Far'mir."

Éomer nearly choked on his toast. It was no great stretch to imagine Éowyn's husband being uncomfortable around children, and therefore in Elfwine's eyes not nearly as interesting as his other caretakers—namely, Gúthwyn.

"Your uncle is not boring," the king of Rohan finally managed, although privately he felt that Faramir could do with being a little less serious. While he understood that the man had suffered a number of losses, most painfully those of his father and brother, he wished that Faramir's disposition were not as grave.

Elfwine, however, was not so forgiving as his father. "I no like Far'mir," he staunchly asserted. "I want Gúthy now, peas. Give me Gúthy."

"Gúthwyn is sleeping," Éomer told his son for what felt like the thousandth time.

A bottom lip trembled. "But _Papa_," Elfwine wailed, his eyes filling with tears, "I need Gúthy! She play with me!"

At that moment, Legolas walked into the great hall. It was as if the Valar had seen Éomer's plight and had decided to help him. If he could not have his baby sister, he would have Elfwine's next favorite person.

"_Leggy!_" the child shrieked, momentarily forgetting about Gúthwyn.

Somehow smiling through the assault on his eardrums, Legolas waved at Elfwine and approached the table. "My lord," he greeted Éomer, inclining his head. "Good morning."

"Morning, Leggy!" Elfwine sang before Éomer could reply.

"Forgive him," the king muttered, embarrassed by his son's boldness. "My sister is not up yet and, therefore, this little one is being rather unruly." He ruffled Elfwine's hair.

"_You_ unruly," Elfwine insisted petulantly. "_I_ good boy."

Legolas's face twitched. Éomer had the sneaking suspicion that the Elf was trying not to laugh at him, and he mock-glowered at his son. Luckily, it was not long before the tables turned on Legolas.

"Leggy," Elfwine began, very sweetly, "play battle with me?"

Legolas hesitated, his expression suggesting that his brain was struggling to come up with an excuse.

"Go on," Éomer said gaily, amused by the Elf's less than eager reaction. "He does not bite."

"I know nothing about children," Legolas tried to protest, but Éomer waved the pitiful attempt away.

"Nonsense," he replied, getting another laugh out of watching his poor friend's alarm. Lowering a squirming Elfwine to the ground, he added, "He already likes you—now he just wants to show you his soldiers."

Upon hearing this, Elfwine crawled over to a small toy chest that was never kept far from the king's dining table. Easily undoing the simple clasp, he lifted the box and turned it upside down. A small army of wood figures spilled onto the floor, causing him to squeal in delight. He dropped the container and began pushing the entire collection over to Legolas, who watched its approach with something akin to the dread Éomer was used to seeing in the eyes of untested men before their first battle.

Chuckling a little when Legolas reluctantly crouched down next to his son, the king of Rohan returned to his breakfast. He had not been alone for much more than a minute before Lothíriel joined him, dressed exquisitely as usual in one of the fancy gowns he wished he could convince his baby sister to wear more often.

"Good morning," Lothíriel said, kissing him chastely on the cheek. Éomer smiled at her compulsion to adhere to propriety in public and returned the greeting, purposely brushing his lips against hers.

His wife rolled her eyes when they were done, though she was not angry with him. "There are other people here," she whispered, her tone not so scandalized as it had been her first year in the Golden Hall—but close.

"The king is perfectly within his rights to show affection to the queen," Éomer murmured slyly in her ear, resisting the urge to pull her onto his lap then and there and demonstrate the type of affection he meant. He had attempted to do that once, but she had been so humiliated that she had not been able to look him in the face for hours afterwards. It was yet another way in which his wife was similar to his sister—both of them shied away from displays of such intimacy.

"Not in full view of his servants," Lothíriel replied, as he had expected her to do. "Where is Elfwine?"

Éomer turned and pointed. Their son was in the process of showing Legolas every single member of his cavalry. The Elf was either an excellent actor or genuinely interested, for he was asking questions about and marveling at the things Elfwine was telling him.

"Coh-bin give me this one," the child's excited voice drifted over to his parents. "It's my Marshal. I name it Eckinband."

Legolas quite obviously repressed a snort of laughter at the mangled pronunciation of Erkenbrand. Elfwine was so absorbed in his prattling that he noticed neither his audience's mirth nor the entrance of his mother, who surveyed him for a time before sitting down at the table.

"I hope he is not bothering Legolas," she said quietly.

"I like to think of it as doing our friend a favor," Éomer replied breezily. "After all, he too will have children one day."

"Éomer!" Lothíriel exclaimed, shocked. "You did not foist our son on him, did you?"

"Of course not," Éomer lied, grinning.

Lothíriel looked properly appalled, but Éomer noticed that she made no move to rescue Legolas. Instead, she sighed exactly the way she did when her husband had just done something that her morals did not approve of, but that she was secretly amused by.

"How did you sleep?" Éomer asked her, dropping the subject with a conspiratorial wink.

"Very well, thank you," Lothíriel replied primly. "And you?"

They made small talk until they were joined by Éowyn and Faramir. Elfwine looked up from his toys long enough to shout "'Wyn!" and toddle over for a hug—all the while glaring at Faramir—but after Éowyn had fussed over him he returned to Legolas. The two princes played semi-quietly in the background as the couples were served breakfast. Éomer inquired of Legolas if there was anything he wanted to eat, but the Elf shook his head and said that he had already taken his meal.

Lothíriel left the hall shortly, announcing that there were still some tasks she had to oversee. Éomer, Éowyn, and Faramir remained, idly conversing until the White Lady set down her mug. The gesture, combined with the piercing look she gave Éomer, foretold imminent interrogation.

"Yes, sister?" Éomund's son questioned, raising an eyebrow.

As usual, Éowyn did not mince words. "Tell me, brother," she spoke, her voice quiet so as not to attract Elfwine's attention, "why is Gúthwyn afraid of Amrothos? What has he done?"

Éomer nearly choked on his mead. He should have known that Éowyn would not have been content with the letter he had sent, feeble-sounding even to himself, explaining the reason why Gúthwyn's wrists were broken. In truth, he had never been comfortable concealing the story from her, but he had not wanted to go against his baby sister's wishes. He should have been surprised that Éowyn had let the matter be for so long. Yet now that she was interrogating him, his mind was blank. What would he say? He was painfully aware of Faramir's presence—the man was Amrothos's cousin, for the Valar's sake. Why would Éowyn put him on the spot like this?

"I—" he began, at a loss for words. He glanced at Legolas, but the prince was engrossed in his play with Elfwine and did not appear to be listening.

"Do not lie to me," Éowyn ordered sternly. "Gúthwyn insists on denying that Amrothos did anything, but she told me that he drank often and she was terrified when she said it. Faramir wrote to Amrothos asking for the truth of his involvement in Gúthwyn's injury, yet we never heard back. What happened last summer?"

Éomer shot Faramir a surprised look. The Steward was willing to call into question his cousin's actions for his wife's sister? He could not help but feel gratified. Éowyn had chosen well, indeed. His opinion of the man rose considerably.

"Éomer," Éowyn said sharply. "What happened?"

The king of Rohan heaved a sigh. He checked again on Legolas.

"Which knight is your favorite?" Thranduil's son asked Elfwine, gesturing at the wide array of soldiers.

"Papa!" Elfwine answered immediately, lunging at the pile and selecting a figure at random.

"Amrothos followed her," Éomer began quietly, "almost from the moment he arrived in Rohan. He frightened her. I had my men watching him, but it was not enough. He cornered her in the stables on the last day of his visit and—" he broke off.

"Did he know?" Faramir asked urgently, his face pale. "Did he know that Gúthwyn did not wish to be around him?"

"Of course he did," Éomer replied bitterly. "Yet that did not stop him from..."

"From what?" Éowyn demanded, her voice rising.

Elfwine looked over curiously, his fingers in his mouth. Legolas waved a horse at him and distracted him once more.

"That bastard kissed her," Éomer answered, all but whispering. "He kissed her and touched her... Lothíriel told me that when she and Elphir walked in on them, Amrothos was groping our baby sister like she was a common whore!" He was now hissing in hatred, his tone rivaled only by the outraged expression on Éowyn's face.

"I will kill him!" the White Lady exclaimed furiously. "How dare he—after all she has been through—what was he thinking?"

"Elphir walked in on them?" Faramir repeated slowly.

Éomer nodded, the gesture conveying utmost contempt. "He did not hesitate to lay the blame on Gúthwyn, naturally. He refused to have anything to do with her afterwards. Good riddance, I say."

"Our poor sister," Éowyn murmured. "How was she?"

"Traumatized," Éomer said hollowly. With a shudder, he recalled how she had been retching into a bucket when he found her, sobbing hysterically in between fits of vomiting. He remembered those deadened eyes, the life within them torn away by Amrothos's cruelty. He could not think of it without clenching his fists.

"And her wrists?" Éowyn pressed, her cheeks splotched red with anger.

"He assaulted her again that night," Éomer informed her. His eyes darkened nearly to the point of blackness. "She fought back and he snapped the first wrist—then, when she was escaping, she lost her footing and used the other to break her fall."

"Was he drunk?" Faramir asked darkly.

"What difference does it make?" Éomer and Éowyn retorted simultaneously. "The nerve of Amrothos," Éowyn continued, snarling. "How could anyone do such a thing to her?"

Éomer shook his head. "She thought it was her fault, that she had encouraged him by being too afraid to say no!"

"Why does she insist on blaming herself for what others do to her?" Éowyn wondered, her expression grim.

"Amrothos is not used to hearing no—he would have pursued her regardless of her willfulness," Faramir added, looking as though he were disgusted to share a familial relationship with Gúthwyn's attacker. "But rest assured that he will not go unpunished. Imrahil always knew how to make one regret their actions: more than once, Boromir and I..." He trailed off. There was a respectful hush for the fallen warrior; it was obviously an open wound that had never healed for Faramir.

"That man has more problems than castigation," Éomer finally broke the silence. "Imrahil has mentioned that he consumes too much mead at home, and I had reports during the visit that the prince was almost never outside of a tavern—unless he was harassing my sister." His eyes flashed.

"Drinking has always been a problem for Amrothos," Faramir confided quietly. "It is well known in Dol Amroth, despite Imrahil's attempts to keep it within the family. His son has made a public spectacle of himself numerous times. I have seen him on occasion; it is more saddening than anything."

Éomer shook his head. He could never pity Amrothos. "That does not excuse his behavior around Gúthwyn," Éomund's son insisted. "The man is banished from Rohan."

Éowyn's eyes widened in shock, although Éomer could have sworn he caught a flash of delight within her gaze. "Brother, you did not!"

"I did," Éomer responded. "It was better than what I wanted to do, which was to kill him—but, if you will believe this, Gúthwyn stepped between the two of us and pleaded with me to leave him alone!"

Éowyn's mouth dropped open. "_Why_?"

Éomer shrugged. There were times when he would give anything to know the inner workings of Gúthwyn's mind, and that had been one of them. "She is too soft," he at length offered.

"She has no spine," Éowyn agreed, frowning. "We had a minor argument on the first night of this visit and she was practically in tears, thinking that I was upset with her."

Nodding, Éomer said, "The only issue on which she has ever stood up to me more than once is that of marriage."

"Just look at the way she is with the children!" Éowyn cried. "She lets Hammel walk all over her, and—forgive me for saying it, brother—Elfwine as well! Your son at least appreciates everything she does for him, but the way Hammel treats her is disgraceful. Why does she tolerate it?"

"According to her, it is her own fault that Hammel hates her," Éomer replied, exchanging a significant look with Éowyn. He knew she was thinking of the conversation they had had on their baby sister's birthday, in which Gúthwyn had revealed that Hammel knew about her and Haldor. Éomer's fists clenched as the Elf's name floated across his subconscious.

"Brother, you need to do something about her," Éowyn said urgently. At her side, Faramir appeared distinctly uncomfortable. No doubt he felt he was intruding upon family business; but Éomer trusted him to keep his mouth shut, and as long as the discussion did not stray into Gúthwyn's tenure as a slave he did not mind the Steward listening in. "I do not believe she is... well."

"Of course she is," Éomer barked, not wanting to consider otherwise. He pushed aside memories of all the times Gúthwyn had panicked for no apparent reason, of the crazed look in her eyes when she had begged him not to seek another marriage for her. He did not think of all the physical ailments she had, nor of the emotional traumas she had suffered. "Have you not noticed that she is eating more, or that she is waking up earlier?"

"No one is denying that," Éowyn murmured, "and those changes are certainly for the best, but she is still so…"

"So what?" Éomer pressed when Éowyn fell silent.

"I do not know," Éowyn said exasperatedly, throwing her hands up in the air in a gesture of helplessness. "Weak? Naïve? Dependent? Éomer, you must intervene. She cannot continue to let others step all over her."

This was nothing he and Cobryn had not already discussed; yet Éomer was reluctant to give his sister so little credit. "She did struggle against Amrothos," he pointed out. "And look what happened as a result."

"It would have been a thousand times worse if she had not!" Éowyn exclaimed indignantly.

Éomer shifted uncomfortably. "What I meant was, our baby sister has learned the hard way that fighting men like Amrothos does not necessarily bring about good—and you know whom she has to thank for that."

There was an ugly silence as Éowyn and Éomer's fists simultaneously curled.

"You are right," Éowyn agreed, clearly embarrassed. She avoided looking at Faramir, who was glancing curiously at the siblings. "I did not… I was not thinking." Her cheeks flushed. "Forget I mentioned it. How is Elfwine?"

The conversation returned to safe ground, but Éomer knew that their baby sister was lingering in the forefront of Éowyn's mind. The preoccupied expression in her eyes mirrored his own.

* * *

><p>"You play fun," Elfwine decided, offering Legolas a toy horse. Thranduil's son took it, though his thoughts were less on the wooden creature in his hands than on the conversation he had just overheard between Éowyn and Éomer. They had forgotten that, as an Elf, his hearing was more accelerated than a mortal's; otherwise, they would not have been so careless.<p>

While he was not paying attention, Elfwine knocked the horse out of his limp hold with a shriek of delight. "I win!" he announced gleefully. "You lose!"

"So I did," Legolas replied, drawn back to entertaining the toddler. Although at first he had been wary of Éomer's suggestion—especially since it sounded suspiciously as if the king were enjoying the sight of his friend squirming—he was now glad that he had taken the time to "play battle" with Elfwine. The child's prattling was a source of amusement and, other than waving around the soldiers he was occasionally given, Legolas was relieved to discover that the job was not at all demanding.

This was beneficial in numerous ways. For one, it enabled him to devote attention to the child even while he was practically shaking in anger about what Amrothos had done to Gúthwyn. Thranduil's son could scarcely believe that a man of such status would lower himself to such animalistic behavior; and yet, Amrothos had preyed upon a vulnerable woman as though he were no better than one of the Enemy's servants, countless of which had done the same thing after attacking villages during the War.

Had he known the full extent of Amrothos's assault—Gúthwyn had told him only about the unwelcome kissing—he doubtless would have been harsher with Faramir's cousin than he had been at the time. Upon hearing Gúthwyn's cries at the farewell feast and discovering that the source of her distress was Amrothos, Legolas had flung the man against a wall. His voice, deadly quiet so that none other than its target could hear, had told Amrothos that if the man so much as laid a single finger upon Gúthwyn after that moment, the Elf would have no qualms using his knives to ensure that the other prince's filthy hands could never touch her again.

Back then, he thought that perhaps he had been too bold. Although he had been certain that the threat would never reach Imrahil's ears, he had doubted himself. The heat of the moment and the sight of both terror and pain in Gúthwyn's eyes had invoked a fury within him that he had never known, and before he had time to think he was delivering an ultimatum to Amrothos: to stay away, or lose one of his wandering hands.

Now, he harbored no feelings of regret. In fact, he privately wished he had followed through with his warning. The knowledge that Amrothos had attacked Gúthwyn in such a barbaric manner was torturing him, as was the awareness that if only he had paid closer attention, perhaps he could have prevented it—or at least have alerted Éomer. Gúthwyn had made no secret of her distrust and even fear of Amrothos; how could Legolas have contented himself solely with asking her for a dance when the alternative was Imrahil's son, with riding at her side so that Amrothos could not?

"Leggy," Elfwine said in a sing-song voice, startling him. He looked at the toddler, hoping that he had not been too idle in his play. "Leggy, Leggy, Leggy, I want a Hobbit!"

In spite of his mood, Legolas smirked. He wondered what Samwise Gamgee would say if he could hear Elfwine talking about Hobbits as if they were toys.

"I see Hobbit one day," Elfwine announced, unaware of Legolas's mirth. "Gúthy tell me so."

At the mention of Gúthwyn, Legolas sobered. He knew why he had kept out of her affairs, even when Amrothos appeared to play an increasingly disturbing role in them. He had wanted to give her space, to avoid the saddening occasions on which she confused him with Haldor. Guesses were all he had about what it was that made her so frightened of the Elf: torture, manipulation. Legolas knew he was missing something, but for the life of him he could not understand what. Nor would he ever ask her.

Elfwine sighed happily. "I love Gúthy," he said, knocking over a section of his cavalry. "She my favorite."

Legolas smiled. Although he was not as devoted to Gúthwyn as Elfwine—who barely seemed to be able to breathe without her—he had to admit that he had come to care deeply for her. Despite the fact that she had spurned him for nearly an entire year, he could not help but feel concerned about her welfare. He found himself wanting to make her happy, to earn her confidence. If only she would trust him…

"_Everyone_ love Gúthy," Elfwine declared. "Except Mama and Neth'el. They mean to Gúthy."

Legolas raised an eyebrow. He did not know who Neth'el was, but he was surprised that Elfwine had picked up on Lothíriel's inexplicable dislike of Gúthwyn. It was barely perceptible, and certainly even Éomer was not aware of it—did Elfwine overhear things in the queen's chamber that his mother thought he would not understand?

Elfwine's face, once happy as he spoke about his aunt, twisted into a scowl. "I no like them," he muttered. "Gúthy my friend. I loves Gúthy. You love Gúthy?"

Legolas glanced over at the high table to see if Éomer, Éowyn, or Faramir were paying attention. The three of them were still involved in what was clearly an attempt to steer the conversation away from the distressing subject of the former's youngest sister, and not one of them was looking at him. Thranduil's son exhaled, wondering how to answer the question.

"I suppose I do," he said slowly. He knew he loved Gúthwyn as he would love a friend, although he did not find himself frequently entranced by the sight of his other companions' hair.

Legolas blinked. That was the first time he had admitted that to himself.

"Good," Elfwine replied just then, pressing his finger over his lips as if to add that it would be their secret. He grinned, devilishly, and Legolas could not help but feel relieved that the child was apparently not going to relate their exchange to anyone, especially Gúthwyn. He could only imagine what her response would be.

"Sister! Good morning, or shall I say good afternoon?"

Legolas and Elfwine turned to see Gúthwyn emerge from the hall leading to her chambers, her expression caught between cheerfulness and bewilderment. "It cannot be noon already," she protested, sweeping over and kissing Éomer on the brow. She sat down next to the king and grinned at Éowyn, although Legolas noticed that she ignored Faramir.

"I am teasing you," Éomer chuckled, ruffling her hair. Gúthwyn gave a cry of mock indignation as her long, dark tresses were mussed, though it was obvious that she could not have cared in the least. Legolas ordered himself not to stare—now that he thought about it, Gúthwyn's smile was disarmingly distracting—and turned back to Elfwine.

The toddler was already on his feet.

"Gúthy!" Elfwine shouted joyously.

Gúthwyn's eyes widened; she must not have seen the child over Éowyn and Faramir's shoulders. "Where is my favorite nephew?" she demanded playfully, immediately standing.

"I here! I here!" Elfwine chanted. "Leggy with me, too!"

Legolas searched Gúthwyn's gaze for the usual signs of fear when she saw him, but there were none. Instead, her face lit up when she recognized Elfwine, and she all but ran around the table to embrace her nephew. "Little one!" she exclaimed, sweeping the child into her arms.

"Morning, Gúthy!" Elfwine said, as usual yanking at his aunt's hair.

Gúthwyn laughed; when she met Legolas's eyes, she laughed even harder. "Good morning to you, too," she replied, kissing the toddler's forehead and poking his nose.

Elfwine caught her finger and giggled. "Gúthy, you silly!"

Knowing that he was no longer needed, Legolas smiled and got to his feet. His movement drew Gúthwyn's notice. "Were you watching him?" she inquired tentatively, surveying the wooden carnage that was strewn across the floor.

Legolas nodded. "We were doing battle," he answered, grinning a little.

"I won," Elfwine said proudly—and smugly, Legolas thought. "Leggy lose."

"You should thank Legolas for playing with you," Gúthwyn gently reminded her charge.

"Dank you, Leggy," Elfwine chorused charmingly.

"Thank you very much," Gúthwyn said to Legolas, smiling even as she held Elfwine tighter. "You did not have to."

"I enjoyed it," Legolas responded truthfully. "You are lucky to have him."

Gúthwyn sighed wistfully, glancing at her brother. "I wish I did," she murmured, looking so forlorn that Legolas's heart clenched. It was painfully evident that the woman before him wanted nothing more than to have a child of her own. Now that Elphir had broken off their wedding negotiations, her prospects were again slim. Such was the envy and desire in Gúthwyn's gaze that Legolas found himself suspecting that she might even endure a marriage to someone she did not love, so long as she could bear a son or a daughter of her own blood.

After a few seconds' silence, Gúthwyn realized what she had said and colored. "F-Forgive me," she stammered, her cheeks a brilliant red. "I did not mean to—I-I am sorry, I was not thinking—"

"That is all right," Legolas said quietly. "Do not trouble yourself."

"Gúthy worry too much," Elfwine complained. "Gúthy need be happy."

"I should go," Legolas excused himself, before Éomund's daughter became even more mortified than she already was. "I promised Faelon that I would spar with him."

Too late, he recalled that Faelon had abandoned the bow and now trained alongside the Rohirrim with a sword; yet Gúthwyn did not even notice, so humiliated was she. "Elfwine," she scolded as Legolas began walking away, her heart clearly not in the rebuke, "you should not speak so candidly…"

"What candidy mean?" Elfwine asked, completely missing the point.

* * *

><p>"Farewell, sister," Éowyn whispered, hugging Gúthwyn. They were standing outside the Golden Hall in the midst of a crowd, surrounded by people who had come to bid the travelers from Ithilien farewell. "Please come and visit soon."<p>

"I-I would like to," Gúthwyn lied, wondering why it was she and not Éomer who was constantly pressed with invitations to see the White Lady's new home. "Will you return again next spring?"

Éowyn pulled away slightly and shrugged. "That is for Éomer to decide," she answered, but Gúthwyn was left with the unsettling feeling that Éowyn was actually happy to go back to Ithilien. Had she already grown tired of Rohan, the land in which she had been born and raised?

Her thoughts must have been written plainly across her face, for Éowyn frowned a little. "My place is with Faramir," Éomund's oldest daughter said simply. "Not in Rohan."

Gúthwyn bristled. "Why have you so bound yourself to him?" she asked. Where had the proud woman she had once idolized gone?

"If you loved someone the way I love Faramir, you would understand," Éowyn replied, a horrible pitying look in her eyes that Gúthwyn could not bear. If only her older sister knew that there was, in fact, one man whom she would go to the ends of Middle-earth for… "Gúthwyn, I know Éomer has agreed to let the matter rest, but you really should consider finding a husband."

"No," Gúthwyn said shortly. _Perhaps it is a good thing that Éowyn is returning to Emyn Arnen_.

The nasty thought rose within her before she could stop it.

"Gúthwyn, please," Éowyn begged softly. "I have seen how you are with Elfwine. I know you still want a child of your own. It is not too late."

To her horror, Gúthwyn felt her eyes beginning to well up with tears. "I do not want a husband!" she exclaimed, the beginnings of a headache touching her brow.

"I am not saying that you must marry someone right now," Éowyn hastened to assure her, "but rather that you should give the matter some consideration. When you visit, we shall go to Minas Tirith. Perhaps you will discover that the men there are more to your liking."

Gúthwyn had had it. "Goodbye, Éowyn," she said coldly, withdrawing from her sister's arms. "I pray that you have a safe trip."

Her sister looked as if she had been slapped in the face, but Gúthwyn did not pause to either savor it or feel guilty. Instead she turned around and walked away, inwardly fuming. As if she had needed more reasons not to travel to Ithilien in the near future, or any future. She stalked by Legolas, whom she had already bidden farewell to, and went up the stairs of Meduseld. Once she mounted the steps and reached Éomer's side, she turned around and surveyed the throng below.

Faramir was already on his horse. Gúthwyn's eye quickly skipped over him and Éowyn, her jaw clenching slightly. Not too far away she could see Lebryn, little Onyveth held securely in his arms. Now a year old, Onyveth waved cheerfully at the departing guests. She was far from the squalling infant Gúthwyn remembered her as. _I have not spoken to Lebryn for far too long,_ she realized guiltily. _I should offer to watch Onyveth for him if he and Celewen_ _ever need a rest._ It saddened her that she rarely saw the child.

Behind Lebryn was Tun, another one of Gúthwyn's regrets. He was standing with Brithwen and the two of them were watching the procession, although Tun's gaze was directed at neither the Elves nor the Rangers. Instead, Gúthwyn felt the heat of it on her face—yet when she looked closely at her champion, his eyes were no longer upon her. Brithwen's were. Smiling uneasily, Éomund's daughter glanced away.

Hammel and Haiweth were around here somewhere. She instinctively searched for them, her brow furrowing deeper with every passing minute. At length she spotted them, next to Cobryn as they always were. Hammel and the advisor were deep in discussion about an apparently very serious subject, while Haiweth looked as if she were about to wilt in boredom. Gúthwyn chuckled, knowing fully well how the girl felt.

However, Haiweth was not alone for long. Éowyn came over to say farewell, and the two embraced. Gúthwyn noted with some satisfaction that her older sister still seemed put out from their conversation, and privately willed her to stop promoting marriage as the only way in which Éomund's youngest daughter was guaranteed a happy life. Then she frowned, for Éowyn had whispered something in Haiweth's ear… and the child was now looking at Gúthwyn.

Gúthwyn felt a rush of doubt and irritation. _What is she telling her? Is she informing her of my reluctance to seek a husband? How dare she!_ She stared challengingly at Éowyn, but the White Lady did not so much as glance in her direction. Instead, she patted Haiweth on the shoulder. "Think about it," Gúthwyn thought she heard her say.

_I swear, if she so much as _mentioned _a wedding…_

As soon as Éowyn and Haiweth had parted, Gúthwyn waited for Haiweth to glance at her again. Once she did, Éomund's youngest daughter beckoned her finger, trying to keep her temper in check. Her blood boiled as she ruminated upon all the things that Éowyn might have murmured in her child's ear, the poison she might have dripped.

"Hello, little one," she greeted Haiweth when the girl arrived.

"Hello," Haiweth mumbled back, all appearances suggesting that she had been caught, red-handed, committing a crime. Her face was a guilty shade of red.

"You miss Éowyn already, do you not?" Gúthwyn asked softly, aware that her child and her sister had formed a close bond. Haiweth thrived upon the tales of the Gondorian court that Éowyn regaled her with, as tame as the Gondorian court was in comparison to that of Dol Amroth. The girl had taken an early interest in pretty dresses and fancy jewelry—needless to say, Rohan did not provide much in that regard, so she was forced to rely on outside sources for information about the latest fashions. Éowyn and Lothíriel were her only ones, and Lothíriel's attitude towards the children was borderline contemptuous.

"I do," Haiweth muttered, now unable to meet Gúthwyn's gaze.

"Little one, what is it?" Gúthwyn pressed gently, putting a hand on Haiweth's shoulder—the same place Éowyn had just touched. "Is everything all right?"

"Can I go to Gondor?" Haiweth blurted out.

Too late, Gúthwyn tried to conceal her recoil. Haiweth saw it, and her eyes filled with tears. "Never mind," she choked out.

_What has Éowyn done?_ Gúthwyn demanded silently. "Why would you want to go to Gondor, little one?" she asked, struggling to hide the angry tremor in her voice.

Nothing short of mortified, Haiweth explained, "Éowyn told me that Queen Arwen is looking for handmaidens"—Gúthwyn briefly closed her eyes, remembering this discussion with Cobryn—"and that noble families are sending their girls to her. Éowyn said that she could speak to Queen Arwen for me, if you would let her. Please, Gúthwyn?" A look of desperation crossed Haiweth's face. "I really want to go."

Gúthwyn would have killed Éowyn if she had not been on her horse, too far away to strangle. She settled instead for shooting her sister a venomous glare, only to have it evenly returned. "Little one," she began, sighing, "what is there in Gondor that is not in Rohan?"

"Everything!" Haiweth cried, but she did not elaborate.

"How long has Éowyn been talking to you about obtaining a position in Queen Arwen's household?" Gúthwyn questioned, watching the servants running around to complete last-minute preparations.

"Just now," Haiweth replied, her eyes shining with tears. "Please, I really want to go!"

Already Gúthwyn was shaking her head. "I am sorry, little one," she responded, "but Minas Tirith is too far away. Who would take care of you?"

"Queen Arwen would be supervising me," Haiweth said immediately.

"The queen of Gondor has more important things to do with her time than to watch over a group of young girls," Gúthwyn retorted.

As Haiweth began crying softly, she wished she had not been so harsh. "Little one, you are not old enough to be living on your own, not even in the White Tower."

"But Éowyn said—"

"What did Éowyn say?" Gúthwyn asked when Haiweth broke off.

"It does not matter," Haiweth replied, tears still streaming down her cheeks. Éomer glanced over at the child, concerned, but Gúthwyn waved him away.

"Haiweth," she spoke sternly. "What did Éowyn say?"

"She said—she said that she would act as my guardian if you wanted to stay in Rohan!" The words tumbled out in an embarrassed rush, as if Haiweth knew already that Gúthwyn would not like the response.

"Éowyn is _not_ your guardian," Gúthwyn hissed, her complexion reddening. She was so furious that she did not care about the disgusted look the White Lady gave her before turning her back on Meduseld, nor about the blatant stares that she was attracting from Éomer, Hammel, and Cobryn. "She never will be! As for Queen Arwen, she can make do with the Gondorian nobility—you are not going to be part of her household! Did it ever cross your mind that Hammel and I cannot follow you to Gondor? Or has Éowyn so bewitched you with tales of ball gowns and jewelry that you cannot think straight?"

"Forget it," Haiweth sobbed wretchedly. "I knew you were not going to let me go!"

With that she spun away, storming into the Golden Hall in a flurry of tears and hatred.

"What was that about?" Éomer inquired worriedly. Over his shoulder, Gúthwyn could see Lothíriel—Elfwine unhappily being cradled in her arms—watching her closely.

"Éowyn placed some far-fetched idea into Haiweth's mind that she could go to Gondor and become a member of Queen Arwen's household!" Gúthwyn snarled, convinced that she was now turning purple. The crowds below had begun to follow the Rangers and the Elves out of the city, but for all the attention she paid them they might as well have not existed. "I am sick and tired of her telling me what I should do with my life, least of all with Hammel and Haiweth!"

Éomer gaped at her. "What has gotten into you?" he asked in bewilderment. "Sending Haiweth to Gondor is an excellent idea. Be realistic, sister—in Rohan, she will not get an education that prepares her for the role of a wife. You would have no interest in such things if you were her age, but you and I both know that Haiweth is not like you. Under Arwen's tutelage she would learn suitable behaviors, and her already considerable skills as an artist would have opportunity to flourish. Minas Tirith is, of course, no small distance, but I am confident that Haiweth can handle it. After all," he finished with a wink, "she will not be complaining when the time comes to find a husband!"

"_Is marriage all you ever think about?_" Gúthwyn screeched, barely resisting the urge to slap him. "_Is that all you see Haiweth as, a piece of clay to be molded into a _wife_?_"

The soldiers on the steps were watching the scene unfold in shock.

"Gúthwyn, you need to calm down," Éomer growled, gripping her by the arm. "Éowyn's suggestion is perfectly logical. In fact, Cobryn recently mentioned it to me—you listen to him! Haiweth is of the age where some thought needs to be given to her future—"

"_She is _eleven_!_" Gúthwyn screamed, now completely hysterical. They were all conspiring against her: Éomer, Éowyn, and Cobryn. They were trying to take her baby away, and they had lured Haiweth onto their side. She could not blame the girl, who was no doubt enticed by the promises of dresses and jewels, but it was devastating to know that the responsible parties were her own family members.

"Keep your voice down!" Éomer snapped, his hold on her so tight that she cried out in pain. Elfwine was wailing in the background, distressed by the commotion. Lothíriel was smirking even as she rocked the toddler, obviously pleased to see her rival lose it in public.

"She is _not_ going to Gondor!" Gúthwyn spat as her brother dragged her towards the doors. The guards opened them, exchanging dark looks with each other. "I will not agree to it!"

"And who are you helping with your stubbornness?" Éomer demanded as he thrust her inside Meduseld. "Haiweth, or yourself?"

Before she could answer he slammed the doors shut, leaving her alone in the dark hall.

"She is _not_ going to Gondor," Gúthwyn repeated to herself, trembling. Angry tears were spilling from her eyes, spattering the floors. "I will not agree to it."

She would never let them take Haiweth from her.


	15. A Dress Fit For a Whore

**Chapter Fifteen**

Thankfully, the subject of Haiweth residing in Gondor was not brought up again. For several days afterwards Gúthwyn caught Cobryn throwing her reproachful looks, but she held her head high and ignored them. Haiweth was soon on perfectly normal speaking terms with Éomund's daughter, although her mood had noticeably dampened and she was no longer the perpetually jubilant child she had once been. Gúthwyn regretted this change deeply, adding it to the ever-growing list of things she resented Éowyn for.

The White Lady was evidently just as angry as Gúthwyn, for communication between them nearly ceased entirely. Other than an occasional letter, written in what was clearly a surge of guilt, neither of them seemed to have anything to say to the other. Smarting from Éowyn's attempt to manipulate Haiweth, Gúthwyn was not at all upset about the state of their relationship and was more than happy to keep her distance from Ithilien.

As it turned out, however, Ithilien was not so willing to let her go. Legolas made frequent visits over the course of the next year, perhaps more than he ever had before. Gúthwyn did not particularly understand why he needed to travel to Eryn Lasgalen so often; she supposed it involved business of some sort, although she never inquired. As she grew steadily less sensitive to the sight of Haldor's mirror image, she was simply glad that the shadows of her past were no longer clinging to her, and she did not question the blessing.

Besides, she had more important things to do than worry about her problems. As the nightmares faded and she began waking earlier, Éomund's daughter was able to devote time to other activities. Her afternoons remained allotted to the training grounds, but her mornings were now spent entertaining children.

It had started with Elfwine. Elated that his aunt had stopped sleeping until noon, the toddler constantly clamored for her attention as soon as breakfast was over, badgering her to take him outside while his parents held one meeting or another. Gúthwyn was more than willing to oblige, and as soon as she had obtained Éomer's permission she would bring her nephew out onto the main street. There, Elfwine's natural curiosity inevitably got the better of him, and it was not long before he noticed the dozens of children his age in Edoras.

Never one for shyness, Elfwine easily charmed his way into other toddlers' games. He made friends quickly, and delighted in sharing them with Gúthwyn. As the mothers of these children realized that the king's sister was perfectly agreeable to watching their offspring at play—and, more importantly, enjoyed it far greater than they themselves did—the hostility that Lothíriel and Nethiel had so carefully cultivated began to ebb away. The younger women, of course, maintained their chilly behavior towards Éomund's daughter, but the parents of Elfwine's friends soon realized that the person to whom they entrusted the care of their children was anything other than a seductress.

The turn of the tide did not sit well with Lothíriel. She refused to so much as acknowledge Gúthwyn when Éomer was not present, and stared at her with such hatred that Gúthwyn began fearing she had lost her mind. Whenever Elfwine demanded to see his aunt, the queen made every possible attempt to divert him, and grew even angrier when he could not be swayed. Gúthwyn's heart twisted each time she witnessed the deteriorating relationship between Elfwine and his mother. It was wrong, but she did not know how to fix it.

Unfortunately, Lothíriel's attitude had carried over to the maids under her command. Nethiel and Wífwen were just as horrible to Gúthwyn as ever, constantly muttering vile things about her whenever she walked by. As their comments grew worse, Cobryn began encouraging her to report their actions to Éomer. "The longer you wait to take them to task for their utterly inappropriate behavior," he warned her, "the bolder they will become."

"What can they do, other than say that I am a whore?" Gúthwyn always retorted.

These conversations with her friend were not far from her mind on a chilly spring night when she and the royal family were eating dinner. Cobryn and the children were also present, as well as Legolas and a small company of Elves. Legolas was on his way to Eryn Lasgalen and had stopped at Meduseld, this time only for a couple of nights. Elfwine, ecstatic to see Leggy, Ran-in, Tree-on, and Fye-on once more, had consented to sit on Lothíriel's lap—because the queen, cleverly, had placed Legolas upon her right side.

However, Lothíriel could not get around the fact that Gúthwyn was her husband's sister, and as a result Éomund's daughter was seated directly across from her, at the end of the opposite bench row. Although Gúthwyn was not particularly pleased with this arrangement, as she was far from Cobryn, Hammel, and Haiweth, she nevertheless was still able to talk to Elfwine.

"Leggy, you still have Arod?" the toddler in question was now asking his guest.

"I do," Legolas confirmed, smiling at Gúthwyn. Éomund's daughter flushed, caught off-guard, but quickly recovered and returned the gesture. "You remember him?"

"A little," Elfwine said, chewing happily on his potatoes. "He old now?"

Legolas chuckled. "Not at all," he replied.

A sudden rustle caught Gúthwyn's attention. She turned from Legolas and Elfwine to see Wífwen hurrying over, an enormous steaming pot of soup in her cloth-swaddled hands. There had been a sudden shortage in the kitchens that evening, and as a result some of the chambermaids had been conscripted into serving dishes. Gúthwyn bit back a smile: Wífwen was clearly not happy with her lot.

"Never again," Éomund's daughter could have sworn she heard the woman mutter breathlessly. The iron stew container was heavy, and no small weight even for someone used to carrying it—Wífwen was obviously struggling. As she approached the high end of the table, Gúthwyn wondered nervously if the maid was capable of reaching her goal without dropping the pot.

"Here you are, my l—" Eager to set her burden down, Wífwen held it out towards the table too early. The motion set her off-balance, and with a cry of alarm she teetered forward. Gúthwyn barely had time to realize exactly where the soup would land when Wífwen lost her footing entirely and fell, the vessel slipping out of her grasp. With a splash, its contents fell directly onto Gúthwyn's lap, followed almost immediately by the iron pot.

Gúthwyn cried out in pain as the scalding hot liquid seeped through her favorite green dress and burned her thighs. Éomer lunged over and wrenched the scorching container off her legs, but not before it too had seared her flesh. She felt tears of silent agony springing to her eyes as her skin melted away, the sensitive layer underneath sticking to the soaked fabric of her outfit.

"My lady!" Wífwen cried, horrified. "I-I am so sorry, please forgive me…" She was so distressed that she began weeping then and there. Even Wífwen, who loathed the king's sister and had never hesitated to spread vicious rumors about her in the past, would not dare to lay physical harm upon Gúthwyn—it was undoubtedly an accident. Yet Éomund's daughter could not have cared less.

"E-Excuse me," she choked out, hardly able to speak through the pain in her legs. As the entire table gaped at her in shock and concern she leaped to her feet, nearly vomiting when gobs of meat fell to the floor. The stench permeated her nostrils and she ran, barely avoiding tripping over the iron pot. Behind her she could hear servants rushing over towards the commotion, and their sharp gasps when they discovered what had happened.

"Sister!"

Éomer easily caught up to her, slowing her down with a hand on her shoulder. "Are you all right?" he asked anxiously, looking at her dress. The green fabric was now brown, herbal leaves and onions from the soup clinging to it.

Gúthwyn could only shake her head. She had not suffered many burns before—at Isengard, she had been lucky, and had escaped the forges with only a few white scars in various places on her body. Yet she knew instantly that this topped anything she had experienced during slavery, and she could not help but worry. What if the skin never grew back?

"We need to get you some water," Éomer said, worry furrowing his brow as Gúthwyn shifted her weight from one foot to the other in rapid succession.

"Brother, please, whatever you do, do it soon!" she begged in agony.

"Go to your room and take the dress off," Éomer decided, seeing the expression on her face. "I will send one of the maids, and Halwend will be there shortly…"

His voice faded as Gúthwyn all but sprinted from him, desperate to remove her gown. No sooner had she run through the hall and barricaded herself in her chambers than she tore off the garment, nearly shrieking as it peeled away from her skin. A loose shift beneath came off just as painfully, revealing a terrible mess of shining pink flesh. Gúthwyn's eyes widened when she saw it.

_As if I did not already have enough marks on my body!_ she thought in despair. Frantically she searched around for some water, but after she emptied the tiny washing pitcher onto her naked lap there was none left. Moaning slightly, she pulled a blanket from her bed and wrapped it around herself, afraid of a maid—or, worse yet, Halwend—barging in on her while she was unclothed.

On cue, the door opened. "Goodness gracious, child," Cwene muttered under her breath, bustling in with a bucket of water. "If it is not one ailment, it is another! I swear, you are confined to bed more times in a year than my son has been in his entire life!"

"Confined to bed?" Gúthwyn echoed, gritting her teeth against the pain. She was not even lying down!

Cwene raised an eyebrow. "You certainly shall be after the healer is through with you! Now, let me see those burns. I have enough water for perhaps a few minutes—Elflede is fetching some more. Hopefully it will last until Halwend arrives."

Gúthwyn shook her head emphatically. "I am not wearing anything!" she exclaimed, a mortified flush tingeing her cheeks. She had not yet forgotten that awful birthday during which Cwene had seen her naked, an accident that she wished had never happened.

"Child, this is not the time for modesty!" Cwene barked. "Show me your legs."

"No!" Gúthwyn cried, knowing that she sounded immature yet terrified of Cwene seeing her scars. Even if she did not have nightmares of another touching her naked flesh, she would have had good reason to cling to privacy. She was in agony, but not enough.

Éomer burst in at that moment, winded. "I just summoned Halwend," he breathed, briefly clutching at a stitch in his side. Shaking it off an instant later, he strode towards Gúthwyn. "How is it? Sit down, let me look—"

Gúthwyn cringed and turned away.

"Sister?"

"She has _modesty_ concerns, sir," Cwene sniffed.

Éomer's puzzled expression cleared instantly, as he appeared to notice her bare shoulders for the first time. "Ah," he said gruffly, embarrassed. "Of course. Can you, ah, put on a shift?"

Gúthwyn nodded mutely, but did not move. She was highly self-conscious of her pale thighs pressed together underneath the blanket, the dark patch between her legs. Nothing was more despicable to her than her own nakedness, unless it was that of another. She was very glad that she had resisted Éowyn on the matter of marriage, for if she had given in she would soon be living a life in which it was acceptable for her husband to view her disrobed. How could Éowyn stand it? How could Éomer take pleasure in it?

At the thought of Éomer enjoying the sight of Lothíriel without clothes, Gúthwyn felt sick and she could not meet her brother's eyes. Luckily, he took the hint.

"I will wait outside," he told her. "Hurry, for Halwend is coming."

Relieved more than she would dare to admit, Gúthwyn waited until her brother had retreated from the room—Cwene following with a scowl on her face—and then she hurried over to her wardrobe. Opening a drawer and fumbling around for the nearest shift, she selected one at random and dropped the blanket. Before she could see her reflection in the mirror, she yanked the undergarment over her head and stuck her arms through the sleeves. Smoothing it out, she returned her attentions to the burns on her thighs.

"I am done," she called out to her brother, grabbing the bucket that Cwene had set down. The maid had tied some rags onto the handle, presumably to be used for dabbing the liquid on Gúthwyn's skin. Sitting on her bed, Éomund's daughter drew the blanket in between her legs—if Halwend had to examine her, he would see nothing other than the burns—and without further preamble she dipped one of the cloths into the water.

Éomer and Cwene entered as she did so. "Did I disrupt dinner?" Gúthwyn asked anxiously as she pressed the rag onto her pink skin. She tried to conceal the subsequent wince, although it was difficult when she thought of how she must have looked in the eyes of her brother's guests.

"Do not worry about it," Éomer said dismissively, coming to sit at her side. "Your well-being is far more important. I cannot believe that servant did not ask for help carrying that pot…"

"It does not matter," Gúthwyn replied wearily, placing the cloth in the water once more.

"Which maid was it, my lady?" Cwene asked, the casual note in her voice anything but. "I shall have a word with her."

Gúthwyn exchanged a glance with the other woman. "Wífwen," she answered.

Cwene's lips pursed. "I see." There was a brief silence. "Well, my lady, if you do not mind, I will take your clothes and do my best to have them cleaned."

"Thank you," Gúthwyn said, smiling. She was grateful that at least some attempt could be made to salvage the gown, which was one of the few that she felt truly comfortable in.

Judging from Cwene's expression as she picked up the stained fabric, however, the future did not bode well for Gúthwyn's green dress.

* * *

><p>"How dare you?" Cwene hissed, gripping Wífwen's arm as tightly as she could. They were hidden from the guests' views by a large pillar, but for fear of being overheard she kept her voice low. "Not only did you burn our lady, but you ruined her favorite gown while you were at it!" She shook the soiled fabric in Wífwen's face, and was rewarded when the insolent women flinched at the smell of meat.<p>

"It was an accident," Wífwen growled.

"Naturally," Cwene scoffed, not believing her in the slightest. _I would report your atrocious behavior,_ she added silently, _if the queen were not encouraging it!_ "That poor girl suffers enough without you adding to her troubles! You are fortunate that the king did not fire you on the spot!"

"It _was_ an accident," Wífwen insisted, lifting her chin. "Now, if you will excuse me, I have a son to return home to."

Cwene had unceremoniously cornered the other woman while she was walking to the kitchens after cleaning up the last of the soup, and she was in no mood to let her go so easily. "I have my eye on you," she warned furiously. "Starting tomorrow, your duties will be doubled until our lady recovers from her burns. I hope for her sake, not yours, that they are not doubled for long."

Wífwen glared at her. Nothing short of pure hatred was written in her gaze. "_Your_ lady," she corrected snidely.

"_Our_ lady," Cwene repeated, her words dangerously quiet. "And you would do well to remember it."

With that she stalked away, intending on washing Gúthwyn's gown herself. She would have given it to Wífwen to make the woman regret the damage she had done, but she did not trust the maid farther than she could throw her. Before she had gone much more than a few paces, however, she heard her name being called.

"Cwene, could you please help?" Elflede begged as she approached, her brow shining with sweat. She was hefting two buckets of water for Gúthwyn, but both of them knew that it was not enough. "My arms are about to fall off," the younger woman confessed apologetically. "There are more of these containers down at the well, but I cannot carry anything else tonight. Will you do it?"

Cwene sighed. She would have to wait until tomorrow to clean Gúthwyn's gown. Although there was now a significantly increased risk of permanent staining, her lady's health was more important than any article of clothing, however treasured. "Of course," she told Elflede, who sighed in relief. "Let me put this in the laundry room."

"Thank you so much," Elflede breathed, panting. She tottered off in the direction of Gúthwyn's room, politely refusing Cwene's concerned offer to take one of the buckets.

The laundry room was really a glorified closet, Cwene reflected a moment later, opening the door and surveying the inside. If for some reason a load of washing could not be attended to immediately, this was the place where the maids would store the clothes. It was located in an awkward spot of the Meduseld, a tight corner between the great hall and the corridor leading to the king's quarters. Sighing again, Cwene tenderly folded the gown and gently placed it off to the side. Although she had not had the heart to tell her lady, she did not think it could be salvaged—yet she had to try.

Straightening, she closed the door and began making her way to the well. She was not there when a slender figure entered the laundry room and, after looking carefully around, selected a green dress from the floor and then left as quietly as they had come.

* * *

><p>"So, once again I cannot wield a sword!" Gúthwyn complained to Cobryn the next day, leaning heavily on him as she hobbled up the stairs into Meduseld. Even though Halwend had spread a cool ointment on her legs—much to her mortification, and she had broken down in nervous tears after he left—and wrapped them tightly in bandages, the smallest movements brought her pain. Without the healer's ministrations her situation would, of course, have been much worse. Yet she could not help but resent the fact that she was prohibited from swordplay for what felt like the millionth time.<p>

"You should have been confined to bed," Cobryn grumbled, obviously not pleased that she had ignored the healer's suggestion. Éomer had not been around to stop her: he and Lothíriel had been attending a council meeting when she awoke. By the time Cobryn discovered that Éomund's daughter was out of bed, it was too late.

Gúthwyn chose not to speak.

"And better a few weeks than the rest of your life," Cobryn continued, though not without shooting her a sharp look. "At least we know it was not intentional."

Gúthwyn nodded. The surprise and horror on Wífwen's face as the pot of stew slipped from her hands and onto the lap of Éomund's daughter was nothing if not genuine. "Even Lothíriel would not stoop so low," she murmured.

"I would not be surprised," her friend muttered, keeping his voice down so that the guards at the top of the steps would not hear. "She clearly has no scruples when it comes to you."

Gúthwyn shrugged uneasily. Cobryn had despised Lothíriel ever since she had revealed her haughty, classist opinions about slaves; she did not expect him to give the queen the benefit of the doubt. However, after overhearing the sordid story of Lothíriel's past from the conniving Lady Míriel, Gúthwyn had come to pity her rival, even though the other woman seemed determined to make her life a living hell.

"She would not be so foolish as to do something like that right under Éomer's nose," she pointed out, slightly breathless as they crested the stairs.

"And why would Éomer suspect her?" Cobryn asked darkly. "If anything, he will fire Wífwen."

"I hope not," Gúthwyn said, alarmed. The maids depended on the money they made as servants to help support their families. As much as she distrusted Wífwen and abhorred her son Wulfríd, Éomund's daughter could never rest knowing that she had inadvertently caused a household to go hungry.

"Éothain has a healthy stipend," Cobryn replied, shrewdly guessing her thoughts. The guards opened the doors for them and he helped her over the threshold. The cool indoors was a relief after the bright midday sun. Gúthwyn could have sworn that her burns, not yet a day old, were sensitive to the temperature even through the gauze that ensconced them. "You are too soft on the maids, my friend. You should have gotten rid of Wífwen long ago."

"I cannot do that!" Gúthwyn exclaimed, scandalized. "All she has done is—"

"Insult you, her superior, and spread lies about you to everyone who will listen," Cobryn finished for her. "Goaded, lest you forget, by your brother's wife."

Gúthwyn shook her head. "I will not do it," she announced firmly. "Besides, I cannot prove anything."

"Cobryn!"

The two of them looked up to see Aldor hurrying over, a harried expression on his face. "Where are the charts for the Westfold crops?" he demanded, without greeting either of them. "I have been searching everywhere and I cannot find them."

Cobryn rolled his eyes, albeit amusedly. "I left them in the council chamber. Did you check there?"

Aldor sighed impatiently. "Come with me," he said. "I need you to help me sort them."

"Can you manage the rest of the way?" Cobryn inquired of Gúthwyn, in a tone suggesting that she had better tell him the truth.

"Yes," Gúthwyn answered firmly, giving him a light shove. "Have fun discussing wheat products or whatever it is that you find so fascinating about crops. And hello to you, too, Aldor."

The old advisor had the good graces to appear abashed. "Forgive me, my lady," he said. Aldor had never kept secret his disapproval of Gúthwyn's so-called "antics," particularly her numerous refusals to consider marriage, but unlike Lothíriel and her maids he still held a certain amount of respect for her. "I pray that this afternoon finds you well."

"As well as can be," Gúthwyn replied dryly, smiling. If not for her burns, she would have had a wonderful day. Since the training grounds were out, she had simply spent more time playing with Elfwine. Legolas had joined her late in the morning, much to Elfwine's delight, and he had helped her carry her nephew when the child's squirming feet had started kicking her thighs.

Aldor and Cobryn bade her farewell and walked away, but she hardly noticed for the blushing smile that crossed her face. She was surprised that Legolas was so good with Elfwine. He was always so reserved around her, cordial to the point of politely distant. _Does he have a choice otherwise?_ she asked herself guiltily. For the first year of their acquaintance she had practically bitten his head off whenever he attempted to speak to her—could she blame him for being so cautious around her?

Yet with Elfwine, Legolas was proving himself to be either naturally gifted with children or a very quick learner. Elfwine adored him, never hesitating to tell Gúthwyn so. However grudgingly, Éomund's daughter had to admit that the Elf she had once hated was an excellent storyteller, capable of retaining her nephew's interest for longer than she ever could. She, too, was often captivated by his tales, which ranged from his younger self's exploits to more recent escapades.

As she dwelled upon how different her relationship with Legolas now was, Gúthwyn's feet carried her slowly but surely to the passage leading to her quarters. Walking down the shadowy hall, it was a moment before she became aware of short, gasping sobs.

"Hello?" Gúthwyn asked in concern, hesitantly moving past her room and towards the dark end of the corridor. "Who is there?"

It was then that she nearly tripped over Mildwen, who was huddled on the ground not too far past Gúthwyn's chambers. The maid was clutching a ball of ratty-looking fabric in her hands and was weeping inconsolably. When she looked up and saw Éomund's daughter, she shrieked in alarm and cried even harder.

"Mildwen, what is wrong?" Gúthwyn demanded worriedly, kneeling down. The bandages constricted around her thighs and she grimaced, but Mildwen's obvious distress was more troublesome than her pain.

"M-My l-l-lady, I s-swear I d-did not d-d-do it!" Mildwen bawled, holding out the mound of cloth with a trembling hand. "I-I-I just f-f-found it…"

A sinking feeling of dread settling at the bottom of her stomach, Gúthwyn took the rags and unfolded them. "By the Valar," she gasped, realizing what it was.

Her favorite green dress had been torn to shreds. Someone had taken a knife or another sharp object to it and had slashed the sleeves, bodice, and skirt, rendering it utterly unusable. Soup stains still covered what little surface was left, now accompanied by what looked suspiciously like scorch marks. Gúthwyn's mouth dropped open in horror.

"I s-swear, my l-lady, I-I-I had nothing t-to do with it!" Mildwen stammered, tears streaming down her face. Gúthwyn perceived that the poor girl was terrified of losing her job.

"I believe you," she said kindly, hastening to assure Mildwen that she would not be fired. "I just wish I knew who…"

Nethiel. Wífwen. Any of the maids under Lothíriel's sway… which was practically all of them.

"There was a note," Mildwen offered unsteadily, withdrawing it from her pocket. "M-My lady, it was a-a-awful…"

Gúthwyn smoothed out the crinkled slip of parchment. The handwriting was poor, but perfectly legible.

_A dress fit for a whore._


	16. Cobryn's Scheme

**Chapter Sixteen**

"What happened?" Cobryn asked, sitting down at Gúthwyn's otherwise unoccupied table.

Éomund's daughter stared at him, taken aback as always by his perceptiveness. She had not told anyone that someone yesterday had destroyed her favorite green dress. Deep down, she knew that it was just a gown and could easily be replaced—yet the fact that someone bore enough ill will towards her to commit this malicious act was unsettling.

Catching sight of her expression, Cobryn laughed. "You have never been good at concealing your emotions," he explained, biting into his toast. "Eat."

Gúthwyn half-heartedly stirred her oatmeal, and even less eagerly took an obliging bite. She had gotten better about having breakfast, considering this time last year she had never been awake early enough for the meal, but today she was not in the mood.

"So, what happened?" Cobryn repeated after a moment.

Éomund's daughter took a deep breath. "Someone tore up my dress," she blurted out. "Mildwen found it outside my bedroom."

Cobryn stiffened. "The one you were wearing when Wífwen spilled soup on you?"

Gúthwyn nodded.

"Gúthwyn, you have to have that woman fired," Cobryn said urgently. "First your legs, now your clothes—what next?"

Raising an eyebrow, Éomund's daughter pointed out, "I do not know for certain that it was her. It could have been any of Lothíriel's maids…"

Cobryn sighed. "Please tell me you are not that naïve," he groaned.

"Cobryn, I have no proof!" Gúthwyn cried. "The only possible evidence would be the note that whoever did it left…" She pulled the offensive scrap of parchment out of her pocket and thrust it in front of him. "And obviously I cannot ask all the maids to provide handwriting samples, because then they would think that I distrust them—"

"Leave it to me," Cobryn interrupted, his expression foul as he read the venomous sentence.

Gúthwyn blinked. "You can find out who wrote that?"

"I already know who did," Cobryn replied. "I just need to confirm it. But tell me something."

"What?" Gúthwyn asked, leaning forward to hear him better.

"If, beyond a doubt, it is Wífwen, will you have her fired?"

"I could not—"

"Listen to me!" Cobryn almost shouted, causing her to jump. Several of the servants' heads swiveled around to stare at them, but luckily there were few others in the room. "You have to stop this before it gets worse! I know you are concerned about the woman's son and whether or not he will be well-fed if his mother does not have a job, but quite frankly, you should not be!"

"Why are you so intent on getting rid of her?" Gúthwyn demanded, knitting her brow. "It is a dress, that is all." _My favorite dress,_ a sullen voice in the back of her head muttered.

_Stop it,_ she scolded herself. _There are more important things in life than a gown._

"The item itself does not matter, but rather the fact that she was bold enough to destroy it!" Cobryn retorted. "What will happen next, if you do not put an end to it? What other possession of yours might Lothíriel set her sights on? She has already tried to steal your book—what if she decides that burning it would be a better course of action?"

Gúthwyn froze. She actually felt sick as she imagined flames engulfing Beregil's poetry, the page she turned to the most charred beyond salvation. _Would Wífwen do that?_ she wondered.

"All right," she at length agreed, shakily. "If you can prove without question that it is her… I will speak to my brother."

Cobryn sat back, now satisfied. "Thank you," he said grimly. "And I shall see what I can do to get Éothain promoted."

"You have influence over such matters?" Gúthwyn asked in disbelief, though she had to admit that her friend's proposition made her feel better about what she had just promised to do.

"Not outright," Cobryn admitted. "But Éothain is an excellent warrior who has served your brother long and loyally. It will not take much more than a few well-placed hints."

"Thank you," it was now Gúthwyn's turn to say. "Éothain is a good man. I would not want him to suffer for his wife's actions."

"Nor would I," Cobryn acknowledged. "May I keep this?" He gestured to the dress and the note.

Gúthwyn shrugged. It was not as if she could wear the gown again, and she certainly did not want to reread the slip of parchment. "Enjoy," she replied sardonically.

"Excellent," Cobryn said lightly. "Now, if you will excuse me, I have to find someone to write a few things for me."

Gúthwyn puzzled over this statement as her friend walked away, especially when she noticed a strange flicker in his eyes. Cobryn was perfectly capable of penning letters—why would he need assistance now?

_He must have several projects to complete at once_, she decided, sighing good-naturedly at the man's work ethic. When was the last time he had taken a day off? She racked her brains for a moment, only to come to the conclusion she had known all along: he had never gone an entire twenty-four hours without attending a meeting, compiling a chart, or examining livestock inventories.

_Cobryn,_ she thought, shaking her head, _when will you stop toiling your life away?_

* * *

><p>It took some time for Cobryn to locate Cwene, and when he did she at first refused to listen to him.<p>

"Can you not see that I am busy?" she snapped, haphazardly going through a pile of gowns in the laundry room. Her eyes had a panicked look to them; Cobryn wondered if a piece of jewelry had gotten mixed in with Lothíriel's garments and now the maid was searching for it. "Why are there so many clothes in here?" she moaned, obviously speaking to herself as she abandoned the first heap and moved on to another. "Where could it have gone?"

On another occasion Cobryn would have offered to help her, but now he was too preoccupied. "Cwene, I need your assistance," he said, trying to keep the note of impatience out of his voice.

"What did I just tell you, boy?" Cwene fumed, frantically tossing old laundry left and right.

"It is about Gúthwyn's green dress," Cobryn explained, hoping that the mention of the woman's mistress would hold her attention.

He was not prepared for Cwene to whip around, her eyes narrowed intently. "Do you know where it is?" she demanded, leaping to her feet.

Cobryn held out the ball of fabric that he had been carrying, unseen by the frazzled maid, at his side.

"Thank the Valar!" Cwene exclaimed, taking it from him. "I thought I had lost it…" Her expression turned to horror as the gown unfurled before her, and a sharp gasp escaped her lips. "How?" she cried, appearing close to tears as she surveyed the irreparable damage.

"That is not all," Cobryn replied, showing her the note.

Looking as if she could not handle any more bad news, Cwene warily took the paper. "I never learned to read," she announced an instant later, unperturbed and unashamed. "Books are no use to me, and my sight is getting worse by the day."

Cobryn told her what it said.

"How dare they!" Cwene seethed, enraged. "Who did this? Where are they?" Then she paused. "Why are you telling me this?"

"I need your assistance," Cobryn repeated. "I know who it was."

Cwene's eyes widened. "Who—" She froze, staring at the soup stains on the once green fabric. "That bitch!" she exclaimed an instant later, swearing so profusely that Cobryn raised an eyebrow. "That foul, disgraceful, nasty, vindictive little bitch!" Then she realized that Cobryn was still there. "Forgive me, my lord," she said reluctantly, not sounding at all sorry.

"Wífwen?" Cobryn guessed.

Cwene nodded grimly. "I will speak to the king," she decided, folding her arms across her chest. "I cannot tolerate such behavior."

Cobryn held up a hand to stop her. "We do not have proof."

"But you said that you—"

"I _believe _that Wífwen was behind this," Cobryn interjected, "for the same reasons you do. However, since no one actually witnessed her ruining the dress, we have no tangible evidence."

Cwene frowned, seeing the problem. "Well, we cannot let her get away with it!" she exclaimed shrilly.

Cobryn laughed. "Trust me, I have no intention of doing so. I want her fired." As he spoke he surveyed Cwene, aware that he had just tossed the sentence on a gamble. Her expression would tell him if it had paid off, or if he had gone too far. He needed the maid's cooperation, for he already had Gúthwyn's permission. In truth, he had fabricated the scenario of Wífwen destroying his friend's book, for he knew that Lothíriel was not foolish enough to order such an act. However, it had accomplished what he had set out to do: making Gúthwyn realize the danger of her leniency.

At length, Cwene pursed her lips. "I normally would not do this," she said slowly, "but I cannot stand aside and let Wífwen treat our lady the way she does. If you want my help, you shall have it."

Lowering his voice triumphantly, Cobryn told the maid exactly what he had in mind.

* * *

><p>"You!" Cwene barked, the only name by which she intended to address Wífwen for the rest of the woman's hopefully short employment.<p>

"Yes?" Wífwen all but growled, her eyes glaring daggers. As the unspoken head of the Meduseld maids, Cwene was not to be ignored.

"Can you write?" Cwene asked, careful not to look too eager for the information. Cobryn had taught her how to play her role; the man was cunning, but with Gúthwyn's best interests at heart, and she did not want to let him down. She only prayed that his scheme would work.

"Why?" Wífwen demanded suspiciously. Her posture was that of a cornered animal, albeit a dangerous one. If Cwene had had any doubts, she would have none now that Wífwen had ruined Gúthwyn's dress. Yet she could not appear to be drawing such conclusions.

"Aldor said that the advisors need someone to help with the inventories. Their scribe is sick and they are asking for a servant. _You_ are the last maid I asked," Cwene could not resist adding snidely. Wífwen's father had made a respectable living and thus had been able to provide for his daughter's (clearly wasted) education, but none of the other women at the Golden Hall were so lucky. Cwene had not, of course, approached any of them about this matter, but she knew what their answers would have been if she had. "The pay will be good," she continued, glancing surreptitiously at Wífwen.

"When will I be needed?" Wífwen finally asked, lured by the promise of extra money. _The last you shall see for a long time,_ Cwene thought venomously.

"Now," was what she replied with instead. "Go to the council room. Aldor or some other advisor will meet you there and tell you what must be done. And for goodness sakes, girl, your disposition had better improve before you get there!"

Wífwen did not even dignify the remark with a response. Instead she glowered and stalked haughtily away, her back rigid. Cwene watched her go worriedly, reminding herself that the woman was a threat to Gúthwyn and had to be gotten rid of. Even if Cobryn's method of doing so was underhanded—his bad side was a place she never wanted to find herself in—it was necessary.

All the same, Cwene could not shake the feeling of unease. Dissent amongst the maids was something she strove to dissipate, not provoked. It was not right of her to betray another servant and manipulate her into losing her job; such an act was hardly conducive to the already fragile peace within their group.

_Does Éothain make enough for them to keep living comfortably?_ she wondered.

_Stop it,_ she ordered herself the next instant. She had to remember what was at stake, and swiftly she brought her lady's image to the foreground of her imagination. She recalled with perfect clarity all the times that the king's sister had fallen ill, her wretchedly small figure huddled under the covers. She recalled the dread with which her lady had faced her betrothal to Elphir, despite the woman's attempts to disguise it. She recalled all of the hardships, sufferings, and sicknesses Gúthwyn had endured, and how Wífwen had added to them.

By the time she was done, her fists were curled and her regrets were gone.

* * *

><p>A knock at the door had Cobryn smiling grimly, and he rose to his feet to receive Wífwen. He would not, of course, go so far as to physically let her into the room, but he was reasonably tall and a little intimidation might be necessary to invoke cooperation. <em>Not that I am a frightening figure, especially with this damn leg,<em> he thought. "Come in."

The door opened slowly, reluctantly, and Wífwen walked in. She stopped short when she saw him standing at the desk—when the council was in session, it was pushed to the side, but otherwise occupied a place of prominence in the center of the room—and asked, quite rudely, "What are _you_ doing here?"

"Waiting for you," Cobryn replied briskly, arching an eyebrow. "Is that a problem?"

"Cwene said that _Aldor_ was the one who needed help," Wífwen muttered, her eyes answering _yes_ to his question.

"Something came up at the last minute, and now it is I who have the happy task of overseeing you," Cobryn responded, his voice positively dripping with sarcasm. Attempting to be polite would only raise her guard. Luckily, Éomer had had his fill of meetings the night before and announced that today, he was going to be spending time with his wife and son. Cobryn and Wífwen were in no danger of being intruded upon. "Do you see these papers?" He gestured to a cluster of old, wrinkled slips of parchment, browned with age and their edges rife with tears.

"Yes," Wífwen said, folding her arms across her chest.

"They are the household accounts of Meduseld from before Lothíriel was queen," Cobryn explained. They were actually records of bought and sold livestock, but 'household accounts' suited his purpose more. However, Lothíriel herself now managed the domestic finances, which meant that his word choice had to be extremely careful. "Unfortunately, time has made them all but illegible, and we have decided that it would be in our best interests to record them anew. You will sit at this desk and write down what I read. It is a tedious task, but an important one."

Wífwen huffed irritably, obviously not thinking much of the responsibility. "Fine," she muttered, striding over to the desk and lowering herself into the chair. Cobryn lifted up the documents before she could see them and then distanced himself, pretending to start examining them.

"There are spare quills in the draw to your right, and the ink bottle is on the table to your left," he murmured absent-mindedly, for all appearances absorbed in the perusal of his papers. "Are you ready?"

Once Wífwen had located the materials, her limpid eyes glared at Cobryn. "Yes."

"Good." For awhile he let his lips move without sound, as if he were trying to make sense of the words before him, and then he spoke. "Expenses: four woolen blankets for the king's sister."

Wífwen copied it down dutifully, but Cobryn saw her fists clench at the mention of Gúthwyn.

"Three new tunics for the king.

"Six bowls for the kitchen.

"Ten reams of parchment for the council room.

"The services of a tailor to fit the king for a new ceremonial outfit."

Wífwen was writing carefully so that her payment would not be jeopardized, but when Cobryn glanced at the script he inwardly flinched. Her penmanship was horrible, to say the least… and a perfect replica of what had appeared in Gúthwyn's note.

_Why am I not surprised?_ he wondered sarcastically.

"One ceremonial outfit for the king.

"One dress for the king's sister.

"Several pounds' worth of meat, salted and expected to last the whole winter.

"One hunting cloak for the king, to replace the one that tore.

"A new quill for the king's personal use."

Wífwen had now provided everything that Cobryn needed to prove the similarities of the hand behind the 'accounts' and the person who had written the note, but a king's household certainly spent more than what he had just outlined and he spent several minutes fabricating the purchase of items such as soap, candles, and ink bottles. When Wífwen queried as to why he did not include the items' prices, he explained shortly that he would be adding them himself.

At length, he deemed that Wífwen's tenure as scribe was fit to expire, and he thanked her for the job. "There are some inventories that the advisors shall be needing your services for, as well. Next week, I think, is the best time for you to come in—you will receive both sessions' payments then." He had no intentions of ever reimbursing her for her time, of course.

A flash of angry disappointment crossed over Wífwen's face. Cobryn then saw her visibly reminding herself that _two_ appointments' worth of pay was undoubtedly better than one, and she even threw in a curtsy after she had stood for good measure.

"My lord."

"You are dismissed," Cobryn derived great joy from saying in response.

After Wífwen had left, he crossed over to the desk and picked up the parchment. His eyes scanned the shaky handwriting, searching for the words he had deliberately included. _For… fit… dress… a… whole… tore..._ He then consulted the note that Gúthwyn had found. _A dress fit for a whore._ There was no doubt: the penmanship was identical.

Now all he had to do was find a way to approach Éomer—specifically, before Wífwen spoke to Lothíriel and realized that she had been tricked—and explain what had happened. By tomorrow, there would be one less maid working in the king's household.


	17. Pathetic

**Chapter Seventeen**

Did it make her a terrible person to miss her nephew's company even when he was spending time with his parents? Gúthwyn hoped not. But miss Elfwine she did, and she found herself at a loss for what to do as the hour of noon inched closer and closer. Normally she would have gone to the training grounds, yet her burns still pained her whenever she moved and hobbling was about all she could manage at the present. Halwend had reapplied the healing poultice to her legs—she shuddered at the memory of his hands upon her, though he had been strictly professional—and the initial agony had subsided a little bit, but Éomer had ordered her not to partake in any strenuous activity.

Gúthwyn smiled grimly, remembering how angry he had been to discover that she had discarded Halwend's suggestion to remain in bed for a week. _"You are too careless with your health!"_ he had snapped to her at the past couple of dinners.

"_Halwend never said I _had_ to stay in my room!"_ she always retorted.

They had bargained: as long as she did nothing worse than walking, she would be permitted to leave Meduseld each day. She was forbidden from riding and, if her condition worsened, Éomer reserved the right to forcibly confine her to her bed. Naturally, this only made Gúthwyn even more determined to conceal her pain from him, though he continually pressed her about her health.

She walked slowly down the main road, thinking that perhaps she might observe Hammel's training practice. Due to Cobryn's busy schedule, the class had been pushed back closer to noon. The advisor himself had barely arrived on time. What he had been doing with Wífwen, who had emerged only slightly before him from the council room, he would not tell Gúthwyn, and Éomund's daughter was resigned to the fact that she would not find out until his designs had been brought to bloom.

"Gúthwyn!" a voice hailed her then, causing her to start and turn around in search of its source. When she saw it was Legolas, coming towards her from the direction of the archery range with a bow slung across his back, she paused and then began limping over to him.

Immediately he quickened his pace, reaching her before she had gone more than a couple of feet. "How are the burns?" he asked her concernedly.

Gúthwyn shrugged, not wanting to seem as if they were paining her overmuch. "Most of them are blisters now," she admitted, "but they are more discomforting than truly agonizing."

Legolas's eyes widened. "I wish our healer had come with us to Edoras," he spoke, referring to himself and his Elven companions. "Perhaps he could have been of service to you."

Flushing, Gúthwyn replied, "Thank you for your kindness, but Halwend is confident that I will recover soon." She did not mention how somber the man had been when he told her that there would be scarring.

"I am glad for that," Legolas said sincerely, causing her to blush even more. "Is walking still difficult?"

"Not at all," Gúthwyn lied, not wanting to draw attention to her disability. "I must remind myself that there are others less fortunate than I." _Like Cobryn,_ she thought.

Legolas raised an eyebrow. "That does not make your case any less severe," he pointed out. "You always seek to mask your hurt. Why?"

Gúthwyn tensed, suddenly unable to meet his gaze. "Because it is a weakness," she said stiffly. _Because there was a time when if I cried, Haldor would kill Hammel and Haiweth_.

"It is _not_ a weakness," Legolas insisted, making a movement as though he were tempted to put a hand on her shoulder. Part of Gúthwyn shied away and the other refused to let her do so, the result being an odd, convulsive twitch that shook her to the core. She looked at him, confused. "Rather," he continued, "for you it takes far greater courage to admit when you are in pain—physical or otherwise."

"How do you know?" Gúthwyn stubbornly asked. He had read her like a book, with a proficiency comparable to Cobryn; it both bothered her and intrigued her. Were all Elves so perceptive?

"Need I recount all the times you have attempted to conceal an injury?" Legolas returned.

Or maybe she was just that transparent.

"At the Hornburg," Legolas continued when she did not respond, "you would have sewn your own wound had you not been prevented from doing so. In Minas Tirith, you ignored your broken ankle and went walking around the citadel, at night, on your birthday."

"Point taken," she muttered.

Legolas looked at her for a moment and smiled. "No one will think the less of you for confessing pain."

"I see no reason for me to inconvenience Éomer further than I already have," Gúthwyn said airily, her tone making it clear that the conversation was over. "In any case, that is neither here nor there. How was the archery range?"

"Excellent, as usual," Legolas replied, not skipping a beat. The only sign that he had noticed the embarrassingly obvious transition was the way his eyebrows drew together and then arched slightly, creating the perfect portrait of skepticism. "What have you been doing this morning? I am surprised that Elfwine is not with you."

"Éomer decided to take the day off," Gúthwyn explained. "He, Lothíriel, and Elfwine left right after breakfast for a ride, although they will be back in time for lunch." Naturally, part of her wished that she could have gone with her brother—but she reminded herself that Éomer deserved some time alone with his family, especially Lothíriel.

"And what has occupied your time for the past few hours, given your nephew's absence?" Legolas inquired.

Gúthwyn blushed, realizing that she had forgotten to answer the question the first time it was posed. "Nothing, really," she admitted. "I have mostly been walking and conversing with others. I was thinking of going to watch Hammel's class, although he normally does not want me present."

"Why would that be?" Legolas queried, puzzled.

Shrugging in a cavalier way that belied her hurt, Gúthwyn replied, "He lacks confidence in his abilities and finds it discomforting if I observe him."

Legolas considered her response. "Does he realize what, in doing so, he deprives you of?"

_Perfectly well,_ Gúthwyn thought. "No," she said. "I doubt it. Yet I respect his wishes, for the most part—although, today I may make an exception. Cobryn tells me that his lessons are not progressing, and I desire to see for myself what might be the problem."

"May I accompany you?" Legolas asked. "Perhaps I can be of assistance."

"You may," Gúthwyn answered, after a moment's hesitation. "But I must warn you, I cannot walk very swiftly." She glanced ruefully at her legs.

"That is fine," Legolas told her; "your recovery is more important than our traveling speed. Would you like help?" He offered his arm.

Gúthwyn's eyes widened at the simple gesture, and she felt her heart thumping erratically within her chest. She knew that the going would be easier if she had someone to lean onto, but her fears and her pride were telling her that under no circumstances was she to agree to Legolas's suggestion. Yet no sooner had she determined to obey these voices than her legs ferociously argued against such a decision, reminding her just how painful the burns were.

_Do not just stand there, do something!_ she ordered herself, now frozen into place. Should she listen to her body and receive the aid that, quite frankly, she needed? Or should she listen to her mind and keep the Elf's hands at bay?

"My apologies," Legolas said quietly, making to withdraw his arm. "I should not have been so bold."

"No!" Gúthwyn blurted out, mortified by her behavior. "I-I mean, _I_ am sorry. I-I would… I would appreciate it."

Legolas could not mask his surprise as he again held out his arm, but he did not appear to be annoyed with her. An embarrassed flush creeping up her cheeks, Gúthwyn tentatively laid her hand upon the leather greave that spanned nearly from his wrist to his elbow. She did not want to press too hard.

"Thank you," she whispered.

"You are most welcome," Legolas said in return, beginning to walk slowly down the street. Gúthwyn kept stride with him, reluctantly forced to lean more against the Elf as her legs refused to cooperate. _I should have listened to Éomer,_ she found herself thinking bitterly. _I am little more than a cripple._

She immediately felt appalled by her ungraciousness—this was what Cobryn had to deal with every day, and she should have been thanking the Valar that her situation was only temporary.

"Gúthwyn!" someone called then, causing her to start and glance up. It was Elfhelm, evidently coming from the training grounds. "How are you feeling?" he inquired worriedly, looking pointedly at the way Legolas was assisting her. It had not been long before the story of Wífwen's accident had spread around Edoras; ever since then, the soldiers had insisted on asking after her well-being each time they saw her.

"I am fine, thank you," Gúthwyn answered, adjusting her body language so that it supported her assertion. "Did you put your sword to good use this morning?"

Visibly rolling his eyes at her avoidance of further questioning, Elfhelm nevertheless replied with a wicked grin, "Aye, Gamling is going to be sore on the morrow!"

Chuckling, Gúthwyn bade him farewell and then continued on her way with Legolas.

"Is this too quick for you?" Legolas wondered, referring to their pace, which was slightly faster than a snail's.

"Not at all," Gúthwyn said, smiling. They were slowly but surely drawing closer to where Hammel's class was being held, and in her excitement she could almost travel at a reasonable speed. Almost.

"All right, everyone, get into pairs and face your partner!" Cobryn's voice met her ears as she and Legolas approached. Gúthwyn had to bite back an amused grin: her friend had no trouble making himself heard when necessary, despite the fact that normally he listened more than he spoke.

"How long has Cobryn been teaching this class?" Legolas questioned.

"Years," Gúthwyn informed him. The War of the Ring had barely come to its conclusion before Cobryn had been offered the job of instructing a then-young group of boys, and he had been with the same children ever since. He was not immensely popular in the sense that his pupils frequently sought him outside of class, but it was clear that they all deeply respected him.

When at last Gúthwyn and Legolas reached the clearing where the boys were sparring, their senses were assaulted by the sight of dozens of adolescents violently squaring off against each other, the sounds of their furious and frustrated cries leaping into the air, and the distinct smell of sweat that was ever-present when sword fighting was involved. Gúthwyn waved at Cobryn, whose keen gaze immediately noticed that she was leaning on Legolas. Her friend lifted his eyebrows, and Gúthwyn was suddenly relieved that she was too busy teaching to interrogate her. She could only imagine what Éomer would do if he found out that she was having difficulty walking—he would likely confine her to bed, as he had threatened.

When Cobryn returned his attention to the dueling pair of boys in front of him, Gúthwyn felt very much as if she were a fish who had just been let off the hook, without knowing that it had only been granted a temporary respite. Grimacing, she removed her hand from Legolas's arm. "Thank you," she murmured when the Elf looked at her. "Y-You did not have to."

"It was my pleasure," Legolas responded with a smile. "I just wish it were not necessary."

"As do I," Gúthwyn said fervently, searching for Hammel. At length she spotted him several yards away from her, sparring with Wulfríd. Éomund's daughter inwardly groaned, wondering why the two of them always seemed to be paired together. By and large, Cobryn let the boys choose their own partners—she doubted that the advisor would ever have put them together.

As usual, Wulfríd was easily overpowering Hammel, and taunting him so as to add insult to injury. "You are pathetic," he sneered, jabbing Hammel in the stomach with his wooden blade when he thought Cobryn was distracted.

"Wulfríd, what have I told you about controlling your strikes?" Cobryn immediately demanded, his voice raised over the crowd so that all could hear. "You have much to learn about the art of self-discipline."

An angry flush colored Wulfríd's next, and he muttered something under his breath.

"I hope that was a 'Yes, _sir_,'" Cobryn said pointedly. "Eadbald, keep your guard up!"

The boy in question let out a frustrated moan. Evidently, it was not the first time he had been told this. Hammel and Wulfríd continued sparring, but it was obvious that the former was not putting any effort into his motions. Gúthwyn sighed as she watched the child make a few half-hearted attempts to deflect his opponent's strikes, yet he was clearly bored and had no interest in being where he was.

"He does not appear to be enjoying himself." Legolas voiced what they were both thinking.

"No, he does not," Gúthwyn agreed sadly. While she knew that Hammel was gifted in other ways, and she had never pushed him to follow in her path and devote more time to his physical training, it grieved her to see that he was so unresponsive to even Cobryn's tutelage.

"Why does he still participate in the class?" Legolas wanted to know, his brow knit.

Gúthwyn shrugged. "He has not mentioned a desire to discontinue the lessons, and he has yet to miss one."

Sighing, she watched as Hammel was unhanded yet again by Wulfríd. The other child seemed to take a cruel delight in knocking the sword out of his opponent's grasp, and kicked it away so that Hammel had to travel further to retrieve it.

"The nerve—" Gúthwyn began furiously, starting forward. She was half-tempted to give Wulfríd a good smack across his insolent face, and might have done so long ago had she not held his father in such high esteem.

Hammel must have heard her, for at that moment he looked up and sent her such a foul, sullen glare that she stopped in her tracks. _Stay out of this,_ the boy was clearly warning her. _Or else._

Hurt, Gúthwyn stepped back, not wanting to make the situation worse for him. Hammel picked up the sword without further interruption and resigned himself to another round of taunting from Wulfríd. This went on for nearly half an hour, Wulfríd merely lowering his voice whenever he was rebuked by Cobryn. Gúthwyn was practically beside herself with rage.

"Does Wulfríd realize that you are here?" Legolas muttered discreetly at one point, after Wulfríd had not-so-subtly elbowed Hammel in the ribs.

"He will when I bring his deeds to Cobryn's attention," Gúthwyn ground out, her teeth gritted so tightly together that she could practically feel them eroding each other away.

To make matters worse, Wífwen arrived a few minutes later. She immediately gravitated towards a cluster of mothers not too far from Éomund's daughter and began loudly praising her son, punctuating each endearment with a calculating look in Gúthwyn's direction. _A pity _your _child is not as skilled as mine,_ her arrogant eyes said.

"Wretched woman," Gúthwyn hissed under her breath after this had happened several times.

"I beg your pardon?" Legolas asked in surprise, knowing what she had said but not why.

"Wífwen is lording over me the fact that Wulfríd is more capable than Hammel when it comes to using a sword," Gúthwyn grumbled, nodding her head towards the woman. "I find such manners atrocious."

Legolas glanced at where she had indicated and did a double take. "The same maid who spilled the soup on you?"

"That would be correct," Gúthwyn said.

"It—it was an accident," Legolas replied, the sentence more a question than a statement.

"It was," Gúthwyn assured him, "but she has never kept it secret that she hates me. Now it seems she has found another opportunity to show her feelings."

"Excellent block, Wulfríd!" Wífwen cried just then, as Wulfríd effortlessly parried one of Hammel's effortless attacks. "He takes after his father," the maid confided in her friends, positively gushing with pride. "I pity his opponent!"

Unfamiliar with the Rohirric tongue, Legolas did not understand what was being said, but Gúthwyn certainly did. Inwardly she resolved to confer with Cobryn as soon as possible and determine how long, exactly, before Lothíriel's sycophant would be receiving a much-needed dose of comeuppance. Éomund's daughter did not personally feel the desire to compete with the woman over whose child was more gifted than the other's, yet she was infuriated that Wífwen should make such disparaging remarks about Hammel and think she could get away with it.

Just then, Cobryn called for an end to the fighting. "I grow tired of repeating myself," the advisor said, loudly yet not unkindly. "All of you need to pay attention to your guard. Too often I see caution cast aside in favor of landing a cheap blow on your adversary's shoulder—which, by and large, is not a fatal target. Should any of you wish to pursue a career as a soldier, you will be tested on your ability to defend yourself against attacks. This you cannot do if you so frequently leave your neck and chest exposed. Yes, Wulfríd?"

The boys' heads swiveled to see Wulfríd, who was staring at Cobryn with a smirk upon his face. "How will I know if I am maintaining my guard, sir, when my partner never manages to strike me?"

Hammel's expression was stony as his classmates sniggered.

"If you devote such care to your guard as you do to the inflation of your ego, I am confident that you will not have a problem," Cobryn replied testily.

Wulfríd flushed an angry red as a chorus of laughter echoed around him. Evidently, the other boys agreed with Cobryn. Even Hammel cracked a smile.

"How dare he!" Wífwen seethed, glaring at Gúthwyn as if what the advisor had said was somehow the fault of Éomund's daughter.

Cobryn ignored the not-so-quiet outburst, although he had undoubtedly heard it. "Does anyone else have any questions?"

All were silent.

"Excellent," Cobryn replied briskly. "Now, back to work! Remember your guard."

As his pupils scrambled to obey, Wífwen shot Gúthwyn a nasty look and spoke directly to her. "Your _friend_ is very harsh in his treatment of my son," she sniffed.

"I am sorry you feel that way," Gúthwyn responded evenly, though her insides were boiling with rage. Wífwen was acting as if Wulfríd had done nothing to merit such verbal abuse from Cobryn.

"Is everything all right?" Legolas inquired softly, unable to discern the dialogue between Gúthwyn and the maid.

Éomund's daughter nodded, unwilling to unload her social problems onto him. "It is not important," she answered.

Legolas opened his mouth to say something, but luckily at that moment Cobryn appeared by Gúthwyn's side. "How are your burns?" he interrogated her without preamble.

In her anger over Wulfríd's insolence, the pains had receded to a dull, constant ache in the background of her senses, but now the agony returned full force.

"They are doing fine," was what she told Cobryn.

Her friend snorted. "Do not try to deceive me," he said. "I saw Legolas helping you walk. Let me ask again: how are your burns?"

"You are making too much of a fuss about this," Gúthwyn muttered, ignoring the disbelieving looks that Cobryn and Legolas were exchanging. "I—"

"Pathetic!" a voice rang out, a harsh jeer against the laughter and battle cries that were far more commonplace in a boys' class. Gúthwyn immediately turned from Cobryn to see Hammel sprawled on the ground, glaring up at Wulfríd's gleeful features. "I bet even your sister could defeat you in a sparring match!" Wulfríd cried triumphantly.

"Leave Haiweth out of this," Hammel snarled, pushing himself up from the dirt and getting to his feet. A hush had fallen at Wulfríd's words—Hammel's response was audible to everyone.

"_Leave Haiweth out of this,_" Wulfríd mocked in a high-pitched, breathy command. Gúthwyn's fingers curled into fists. Wulfríd did not deserve to so much as utter Haiweth's name. "You are a disgrace to the rest of us," Wífwen's child continued, gloating. "You should not be in this class—I bet the only reason you are allowed to attend is because you are the son of the king's sister!"

It was obvious that Wulfríd had no idea that the king's sister was actually present, her face growing redder by the second

"Gúthwyn is not my mother," Hammel snapped, his eyes so dark they were almost black.

Wulfríd laughed. "Do you expect me to believe that?" he demanded amusedly.

Cobryn growled and stepped forward; the other boys, who had been chortling along with Wulfríd, now shuffled their feet and stared—clearly embarrassed—at the ground. Even Wífwen was blushing in mortification, although she undoubtedly would have agreed with her son in private.

Unaware that his audience was now reluctant to be seen as of similar mind as him, and not realizing that Cobryn was perhaps an instant from bearing down upon him, Wulfríd grinned. "Everyone knows that your mother is a whore," he said maliciously. Gúthwyn's heart skipped several beats at the accusation, something that had to have been formed by his mother's tale. She suddenly found that she could not breathe.

"What is going on?" Legolas asked in confusion: Wulfríd and Hammel were speaking in Rohirric.

Gúthwyn did not answer.

"Lady Gúthwyn is not a whore!" one of the children yelled furiously at Wulfríd just then, a sentiment raucously echoed by several others.

Wulfríd ignored them. "A whore," he repeated to Hammel, "who has serviced half the men in the city—our instructor her most regular customer! I can only hope she is not grooming your sister to be the same way!"

With a sudden cry of pure, boundless rage, Hammel flung himself at Wulfríd. Not expecting the assault, the other boy was easily knocked over. The two of them landed near a pile of water canteens and rolled over twice, leaving Hammel back on top. Wulfríd tried to struggle free, but against Hammel's fury he was powerless. With astonishing strength for one so scrawny, Hammel straddled Wulfríd and pinned his neck to the ground. His free hand he used to deliver a punch so hard and so fast that a loud _crack_ rent the air upon impact. His classmates roared in approval, instantly abandoning the bully who had dared to insult the king's sister. Hammel did not notice that, for once, everyone was on his side.

"Wulfríd!" Wífwen screamed, her eyes wide in terror.

Cobryn took a half step towards Hammel, seemed to think better of it, and remained where he stood. Gúthwyn knew she was not imagining the tiny smirk on her friend's face. It was barely perceptible, to the point where one would never have detected it if they were not searching for it, but it was there. Legolas seemed to be teetering on the brink of doing something, but when he saw that neither Cobryn nor Gúthwyn were moving he reluctantly remained where he was.

"If you speak about Haiweth again, I will kill you!" Hammel roared, furiously striking Wulfríd. Blood was gushing from the boy's nose, staining Hammel's hands red and seeping into the ground. "If you so much as _whisper_ her name, you will wish you had never been born!

Wulfríd's attempts to ward off Hammel's blows were becoming slower, groggier. He was slipping out of consciousness, Gúthwyn realized; and yet she could not bring herself to do anything to help the boy who had so cruelly insinuated Haiweth's impurity.

"You disgusting, worthless piece of scum!" Hammel bellowed, landing another blow on Wulfríd's face. His elbow turned scarlet. Beneath him, Wulfríd's arms went limp, falling uselessly to the ground.

None of the students were cheering now. Their shouts had died down to a low, worried murmur; even Gúthwyn stirred, wondering if she should intervene.

"Hammel," Cobryn said sharply then, preempting her involvement. At the sound of the advisor's voice, Hammel abruptly stopped. He glanced over and arched an eyebrow, his chest heaving.

"Yes?" he inquired, removing his hand from Wulfríd's neck.

"That is enough," Cobryn replied simply. "Wulfríd's mother is present."

Hammel looked as if he wished to spit at Wífwen. Instead he cast a cold, hard stare in her direction. The maid, who upon hearing her name had scurried forward to retrieve Wulfríd, halted in her tracks—just as Gúthwyn had done not too long ago. "You should be ashamed of yourself," Hammel snarled at her, "for raising this imbecile you call your son."

"You wretch!" Wífwen exclaimed through trembling lips, though she did not appear to have the courage to draw closer to Hammel.

Hammel shrugged, as if to say that he could have cared less about her opinion. Carefully and thoroughly wiping his bloody hands on Wulfríd's shirt, he reached over and seized one of the canteens from the pile he and Wulfríd had come dangerously close to upsetting. Kneeling beside his fallen opponent, he pulled out the stopper of the water container and dumped the whole thing upside down, emptying its contents onto Wulfríd's face.

The boy began spluttering, coming to in a mess of fluids. Gúthwyn could see the terror in his expression as he stared up at Hammel, accompanied by no small amount of angry humiliation.

"Good day," Hammel said sarcastically. Without further ado, he seized a fistful of Wulfríd's tunic and used it to yank the boy up. It was not an easy task: Wulfríd's body was limp and, despite his fury, Hammel was still a wiry-framed boy. Yet he persisted, managing to get Wulfríd to his feet with a rough jerk. "Excellent," he spoke brusquely. "Now, let us settle a few matters, you witless oaf."

Gúthwyn could scarcely comprehend the malevolence in Hammel's tone. This was not her child, not he who was assuming the belligerent role he had always scorned. She could barely speak for astonishment. As much as Wulfríd had deserved his beating, the murderous look in Hammel's eyes frightened her.

The horrible scene continued to unfold. "You will refrain from mentioning Haiweth's name ever again," Hammel ordered, loud enough so that everyone could hear. "And you will never call Gúthwyn my mother."

Wulfríd hastily nodded, obviously struggling to regain his bearings. Hammel beheld him in contemptuous disgust. "My mother is dead," he spat, the revulsion in his words evident. "She was killed by Uruk-hai, and only because of Gúthwyn did my sister and I escape the same fate. Regardless of what Gúthwyn has done with other _men_"—the emphasis on _men_ was noticeable, but significant only to Éomund's daughter—"which is nothing and, quite frankly, none of your business, she has never had a child of her own. This would be fairly obvious if your clearly uneducated mind could do the arithmetic and realize that I am only eleven years younger than her, and Haiweth fourteen." With a snort, he let go of his adversary.

Unable to stand on his own, Wulfríd staggered for a moment before collapsing to the ground.

"Pathetic," Hammel sneered, the very word Wulfríd had described him with before their brawl.

It was as if a spell had been lifted over them all. The boys began shouting excitedly at each other, at Hammel, at Cobryn. Wífwen's shrieks, however, soared over the din. "Wulfríd!" she screamed, running to his side. "How dare you?" she demanded of Hammel, crouching down to ensure that Wulfríd had not further injured himself during his fall. "How dare you touch my son? You worthless little bastard!" She straightened and slapped him across the face.

Hammel did not flinch, and only glared at the woman, but Gúthwyn stiffened as white-hot fury raced through her veins. The pain in her legs disappeared; all she could think about was getting to Wífwen and making her rue the day she had ever set her hand against Hammel, against the all-but child of Éomund's daughter. She stormed over to the maid, feeling nothing where her burns were bandaged yet acutely aware of the rage that was consuming her everywhere else.

"You foul woman!" she hissed, grabbing Wífwen's offending arm and twisting it as painfully as she could. Wífwen gasped, her knees buckling under the assault. In the background Gúthwyn heard the sound of hooves, but she ignored them in favor of the sniveling woman before her. "Striking a child is despicable!" she cried, putting more pressure on the limb she was holding. Wífwen whimpered in alarm, contorting her body in a futile effort to escape Gúthwyn's grasp. "As is poisoning your son's mind with gossip and vindictive lies!"

"Sister?"

All of a sudden, Éomund's daughter realized that those around her were scrambling to bow. Startled, she and Wífwen looked up to see Éomer approaching them, having just dismounted from Firefoot. He was back from his outing with Lothíriel; the queen and Elfwine were perched on the former's horse, watching with narrowed eyes. Or, at least, Lothíriel was. Elfwine was waving at Gúthwyn in an attempt to get her attention.

"What is going on?" Éomer asked, puzzled, as Gúthwyn reluctantly released Wífwen.

_Where to begin?_ Éomund's daughter wondered bitterly.


	18. The Shrinking of the Household Staff

**Chapter Eighteen**

"Well?"

Éomer's impatient, bewildered voice prompted Gúthwyn to speak after a long moment's silence.

"She struck Hammel," Éomund's daughter finally muttered, glaring furiously at Wífwen.

The king's expression went from astonishment to anger in a matter of seconds. "Is this true?" he demanded of Wífwen, looking back and forth between the maid and Hammel.

"See what he did to my son, my lord!" Wífwen cried, trembling from head to foot as she extended a shaking finger in Wulfríd's direction.

Éomer's attention came to rest upon the bloody heap of limbs that was Wulfríd. "Hammel?" he asked uncertainly, raising an eyebrow.

"Wulfríd!" Lothíriel gasped, joining the group. Elfwine was squirming in her arms, trying to reach out for Gúthwyn.

"Not now, little one," Éomund's daughter whispered, shaking her head.

Elfwine pouted, but desisted. "What happened?" his mother questioned, gazing accusatorily at Gúthwyn.

"That is what I would like to know," Éomer ground out. "Would someone please explain why this boy is unconscious?" His eyes quickly surveyed Wulfríd's injuries. "Fetch the healer, Eadbald," he told the boy standing closest to him.

"Yes, my lord," Eadbald murmured breathlessly, terrified to be directly addressed by the king himself. He scampered away, appearing relieved to have an excuse to leave.

"If I may, my lord," Cobryn's voice said then. He emerged into the midst of the group, glancing disdainfully at Wífwen.

"Thank you," Éomer muttered.

"As Gúthwyn perhaps has told you," Cobryn began, "Wulfríd," he explained, gesturing at the child—"has found sport in teasing Hammel over the years. Today, he called your sister a whore and insinuated that she might be training Haiweth to pursue the same career."

"He _what_?" Éomer exploded, his face turning red in fury. Wífwen all but cowered, her head bowed to the floor. Elfwine burst into terrified tears, clutching at Lothíriel's hair in dismay. Éomer barely noticed.

"But what I wonder, my lord," Cobryn continued, his voice loud so as to hold the king's attention, "is who might have given him such an idea, for I doubt he came up with it on his own. Boys his age do not pay heed to gossip."

Éomer paused, suspiciously mulling over the advisor's words. Beside him, Lothíriel had figured out Cobryn's intent long before her husband. Her gaze was suddenly poisonous, but the snake was backed into a corner. There was nothing the queen could do to prevent Wífwen's imminent downfall.

"Wulfríd's youth certainly suggests that his mind is being influenced by another," Cobryn added significantly, tapping the final nail into the coffin. "Someone close to him."

Gúthwyn's breath caught in her throat; Wífwen looked as though she might faint in dread.

"Wífwen," Éomer finished, clearly desirous of elucidation yet not immediately scoffing.

"She has made no secret of her dislike for Gúthwyn during her service at the Golden Hall," Cobryn said grimly.

Éomer turned to Gúthwyn, who flinched under the spotlight. "Is this true?" he asked.

"Yes," Gúthwyn reluctantly admitted.

"Why did you not tell me earlier?" Éomer demanded, both exasperated and aghast.

"I-I did not want to trouble you," Gúthwyn whispered, embarrassed by the fact that all of the children—not to mention Legolas, albeit an utterly confused and non-Rohirric-speaking Legolas—were listening to her every word.

"Sister!" Éomer exclaimed, rolling his eyes impatiently. "You would protect this woman, who dares to insult you so openly?"

"I—" Gúthwyn began, stricken by her brother's rebuke.

"My lord, I believe she refrained from mentioning the matter because of her friendship with Wífwen's husband. Éothain has proven himself a worthy warrior during battle, and undoubtedly she did not wish to tarnish such a reputation with a report of his wife's less than savory doings," Cobryn interjected smoothly. "However, now that the situation has gotten out of hand, I am certain that she will not stand in the way of whatever punishment you intend to mete out for this incident." He shot Gúthwyn a warning look: _do not interfere_, it read.

"Éomer, we should move this discussion inside," Lothíriel murmured, her eyes flashing when they met Gúthwyn's. Elfwine squirmed angrily in the queen's arms, sticking out his tongue whenever he saw fit. "Away from public view," his mother added meaningfully, her gaze surveying the crowd of children—as well as a very bewildered Legolas.

Éomer exhaled, the action seemingly very difficult. "You speak wisely, dear wife," he conceded. Turning, he continued so that all could hear. "Let Éothain discipline his son, if he will. Hammel appears to have sufficiently taken care of the matter, though I shall hear more before I determine whether it was just. In the meantime—"

Before he could go further, the back rows of the crowd began rippling as many of the boys shifted to the side. The source of this disturbance was revealed to be Halwend, who was hurrying towards the center of the commotion with his arms full of supplies. Éothain was at his heels, the warrior's face taut with worry. It paled when he caught sight of his son.

"Halwend," Éomer said in relief, nodding at him and Éothain. "Pray tend to this child—clean the blood from him and ensure that his nose is reset, for it looks broken." When Halwend consented, he addressed Éothain. "I will meet with you later. For now, you may stay with your son. Rest assured that he is not seriously injured."

"Thank you, my lord," Éothain replied before kneeling at Wulfríd's side. The boy briefly stirred, moaning.

Wífwen took a half-step towards her husband, but Éomer's sudden glare pinned her in place. "You, on the other hand," the king said, his tone laced with displeasure, "are coming with me."

Éothain momentarily looked up in confusion, but then Wulfríd groaned and distracted him.

"Gúthwyn, you also," Éomer barked as Éothain all but seized the bandages from Halwend. "Hammel, follow us and return to your quarters for the time being."

Both Éomund's daughter and her child assented, powerless to do otherwise when confronted by the king.

"Cobryn, you may finish the lesson," Éomer spoke, inclining his head at the advisor.

"Class dismissed," Cobryn announced.

Chattering excitedly, the adolescents broke away to retrieve their equipment. "Did you _see_ the way he punched him in the _face_?" multiple voices exclaimed in awe.

Once the boys had dispersed, Éomer surveyed the remained of the group. "Let us go to the Golden Hall," he said calmly, though it was obvious that he was furious, "and discuss this incident."

"What happened?" Legolas asked Gúthwyn.

* * *

><p>Cobryn saw Legolas's back growing rigid with anger as Gúthwyn explained why Hammel and Wulfríd had been fighting, censoring nothing in her translation of the Rohirric taunts. His friend was whispering, for the procession returning to Meduseld was a somber one. Cobryn himself was walking alongside Hammel, whose jaw was clenched so tightly that no small amount of prying would be required to unhinge it.<p>

He was tempted to congratulate the boy on finally giving Wulfríd a much-needed dose of public humiliation, but with a trembling Wífwen not a yard away from him he knew better than to do so. Not only for the maid's sake, but for Lothíriel's: he was not fool enough to express such sentiments when the queen was trailing behind him, slowed by a minor tantrum from her son.

"I want Gúthy," Elfwine growled unhappily.

"You need to stop being so dependent on your precious _Gúthy_," Lothíriel muttered back.

"You need stop being so _mean_," Elfwine retorted.

Luckily for Lothíriel, Éomer was at the front of the group and did not hear this exchange, but Cobryn had to bite his lip to keep from laughing. Not only did her son perceive the vicious streak in his mother, but Lothíriel was on the verge of losing one of her hand-groomed maids—a certain loss in her vendetta against Gúthwyn.

"It astounds me that that boy's manners are so atrocious," Legolas murmured to Gúthwyn just then, his voice genuinely amazed. Clearly, Elves did not engage in such petty behavior.

"I cannot blame Wulfríd," Gúthwyn replied quietly, "disgusted though I am by his treatment of Hammel. His mother is the one responsible for spreading rumors."

"He never should have repeated them," Legolas said, obviously still appalled by the lack of deference Éomund's daughter was shown in her brother's city.

Gúthwyn shrugged, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. In most cases, her passivity was infuriating. While Cobryn understood that she desired to keep Éomer from learning of his wife's actions, he had always urged her to report those of Lothíriel's followers in order to keep them from going too far. Yet now it seemed that such timidity was doing her a service: it made whoever listened to her story highly sympathetic to her, and even more furious with her ill-wishers.

_Which is exactly the way it should be,_ Cobryn thought darkly. It infuriated him that the likes of Wífwen and Lothíriel's other maids gossiped so spitefully about a woman they clearly did not know at all—especially because the woman was Gúthwyn, the last person to deserve such horrible treatment. Whenever Cobryn recalled the haunting story his friend had told him of her days in Mordor, he felt sick to his stomach. He could only imagine what went through Gúthwyn's mind whenever she was slandered with rumors of doing the very acts that she had been forced to perform on Haldor.

These musings carried him the rest of the way to the Golden Hall, where Hammel promptly stalked off to his room and Legolas retreated uncertainly to his own quarters. "Gúthwyn, you"—so Wífwen was addressed—"come with me," Éomer then ordered, glaring extra foully at the maid. "Cobryn, please remain at Meduseld. I may have need of you later."

Having every intention of giving Éomer a piece of his mind, regardless of whether it was requested or not, Cobryn inclined his head and set off for Gúthwyn's chambers. It was there that he had stored the ruins of her favorite dress, for he had no place of his own in which to hide them. Together with the note and the "household accounts," which were currently tucked into the folds of his clothing, he had all that was required to utterly convict Wífwen.

Luckily, Lothíriel appeared to more preoccupied with finding someone to hand Elfwine off to than keeping track of Cobryn's whereabouts; otherwise, his destination would have provoked a new spate of rumors. However, since the queen was too busy calling for her son's nurse to pay attention to an advisor, Cobryn was able to slip away, unnoticed, to Gúthwyn's room. There he retrieved the garment, the note, and the sample of Wífwen's handwriting, afterwards leaving as quickly as he had come. To linger would be to invite trouble.

He spent the next several minutes idly carving a wooden soldier at one of the tables, thinking that perhaps he would give it to Elfwine. He kept a close watch on the evidence of Wífwen's crime (he had done much, and risked much, to obtain it, and he was not about to jeopardize the proof), but most of his attention was devoted to the contemplation of what Éomer might be decreeing in the council room.

He did not have much time to wonder. Before long a servant appeared at his table, bowing and saying that the king needed him in the council room. Despite the effort it took, Cobryn did his best to remain upright as he followed the man to his meeting with Éomer.

He hoped that Gúthwyn had not begged her brother to retain Wífwen, as he half-expected she would. If harm befell the children, her will and strength were iron. Faced by anything else, however, they crumbled into dust, leaving her to be bended or broken at the mercy of another. She cared nothing for her own welfare; and how could she, when she had had her worthlessness beaten into her in Haldor's bed? Nay, she did not realize what she meant to her children, to her family, to Cobryn.

When he reached the council room, the servant went before him and announced his arrival. Cobryn then entered the chamber and quickly surveyed the scene, assessing his surroundings in an instant. Grouped around the table in the middle were Éomer, Lothíriel, Gúthwyn, and Wífwen: the king and queen on one side, Éomund's daughter at an end, and the maid facing the brunt of the royal family's wrath.

"Cobryn," Éomer said, relieved. Lothíriel and Gúthwyn's eyes darted to the dress crumpled in the advisor's hand, but the king did not appear to notice. Instead, his tone grew steadily angrier as he explained, "We were just determining whether or not to fire this woman."

"Fire her," Cobryn told him without the slightest hesitation.

Slightly taken aback by the swiftness of this response, Éomer blinked and remarked, "You seem quite certain."

"Absolutely," Cobryn replied, approaching the table as he spoke. "Aside from the fact that she is spreading lies about your sister to anyone who will listen, there is also the small matter of this." He tossed the remains of Gúthwyn's dress before the king.

"What is that?" Éomer questioned, his brow knit in confusion and his nose wrinkled at the smell.

"The gown Gúthwyn was wearing when this woman"—Cobryn gestured to Wífwen, who suddenly looked faint with terror—"dumped a boiling pot of stew in her lap. The gown that was later returned to her, torn beyond repair, accompanied by a note in Wífwen's handwriting."

Éomer's expression turned black with rage as he unfurled the garment. Even Lothíriel seemed stunned as she beheld the stained tatters of the formerly green dress.

"Th-The note?" Éomer at last asked, his voice shaking with fury.

Cobryn held it out to him.

"_A dress fit for a whore,_" Éomer read, his face steadily growing more purple with each word. He curled his fist around the edge of the table, seemingly to prevent himself from striking Wífwen.

"Obviously it is a horrible note," Lothíriel demurred. Cobryn saw her place a restraining hand on her husband's arm. "But, Cobryn, do you have proof that Wífwen wrote it?" Her gaze was haughty as it rested upon the advisor; it was evident that she thought he had not been able to cover that particular base. Unfortunately for her, Wífwen had been dimwitted enough to give Cobryn all the evidence he needed.

Thus, Cobryn took great pleasure in looking right at the queen's smug face and saying, "As a matter of fact, I do." Producing the fake household accounts, he presented them for Éomer's examination. "Wífwen wrote these, believing that I had requested her assistance with domestic matters. As you can see, the handwriting is an exact match."

If looks could kill, Wífwen would have crumpled to the ground under the ferocious stare Éomer gave her. As it were, she was positively quaking. "I swear," the king snarled, barely able to speak through his fury, "if I had one less ounce of decency, you would be thrown into the prison cell in which you belong, you despicable woman. How dare you accuse my sister of being a whore? In doing so you insult the house of my fathers, the House of Eorl! What have you to say in your defense, if indeed you can possibly have one?"

Wisely, Wífwen remained silent.

"Consider your employment here terminated," Éomer growled, "effective immediately."

Wífwen's eyes filled with tears, but she knew better than to argue and kept her mouth shut.

"Lothíriel," Éomer spoke with forced calm, "please accompany this woman out of the Golden Hall, and impress upon her the importance of not spreading lies—as well as the consequences, should she continue to do so."

Wífwen glanced hopefully at her former mistress, but even before Lothíriel cast a cold stare in the woman's direction Cobryn knew that the queen would no longer associate with her former maid. "With pleasure, my lord," Lothíriel replied gratingly.

Wífwen's eyes widened, a look of shocked hurt upon her face. Lothíriel ignored her, turning around and marching out of the room. Wífwen attempted to catch up, but Lothíriel simply quickened her pace. Cobryn watched them go in both amusement and resentment.

"Not so fast," he heard Éomer say then, sharply. He glanced back to see Gúthwyn lowering herself into her chair, having been about to leave.

"Yes, brother?" Gúthwyn asked, confused.

"How long has Wífwen been harassing you?" Éomer demanded, placing his hands on the table and leaning forward so that he was looking directly into his sister's eyes.

Gúthwyn visibly squirmed, not meeting Éomer's gaze. Cobryn resisted the overwhelming urge to grab his friend by the shoulders and shake some sense into her—for even with Wífwen gone, she was still loath to report the woman's atrocious behavior to her brother.

"Answer me," Éomer ordered when Gúthwyn did not respond. "How long has this been a problem?"

"It is not important—" Gúthwyn began to protest.

"Cobryn?" Éomer cut her off, turning to the advisor.

Ignoring Gúthwyn, who was silently and frantically shaking her head behind her brother's back, Cobryn said grimly, "Wífwen has blatantly shown disrespect to your sister since the beginning of her employment in the Golden Hall, if not before. Time and time again she has insinuated that Gúthwyn is a whore, implicating myself and a number of your soldiers as her clients. Gúthwyn has long suspected a correlation between this animosity and Wulfríd's increased bullying of Hammel, though she has always been reluctant to pursue the matter."

Éomer looked astounded. "Sister, why did you not _tell_ me?" he exploded in indignant exasperation. "She has no right to act so heinously towards you!"

Gúthwyn flushed. "I did not want to trouble you," she replied, her voice so soft that it was almost a whisper.

"To trouble me?" Éomer echoed in disbelief. "Gúthwyn, this woman called you a whore and spread such lies to her son! Of course I would want to learn of this! Why would you think otherwise?"

"You are so busy—"

"Never let it be said that I lack the time to care for my family!" Éomer cried. "All the paperwork in Middle-earth can wait, if there are such disturbances in my own home. You must alert me immediately, baby sister, if someone is doing these things to you! Is anyone else treating you this horribly?"

_Your wife_, Cobryn longed to reply.

From the pained expression on Gúthwyn's face, it was clear that Lothíriel's name had also floated to the surface of her mind. _Say it_, Cobryn urged her, attempting to communicate this order through eye contact. _Tell him everything._

"No one, brother," Gúthwyn spoke sincerely. "No one at all."

Behind Éomer, Cobryn buried his face in his hands.

* * *

><p>"My lady, please…" Wífwen begged, tears streaming down her cheeks as Lothíriel escorted her to the doors of Meduseld. "I thought you wanted…"<p>

Incensed, Lothíriel came to an abrupt halt. Luckily, there were no other servants in the Golden Hall. She seized the idiotic woman's arm and dug her sharp nails into the soft skin. "You fool," she hissed as Wífwen gasped in pain. "How dare you suggest that I would be stupid enough to advise such a witless move? Only an imbecile would ruin the dress of the king's _baby_ sister and think they could get away with it! Had I known you would turn out to be such an oaf, I would never have hired you in the first place!"

Wífwen gasped in horror, seemingly unable to comprehend what she was hearing. "Gossip," Lothíriel continued furiously, "is not meant to be traced to its origins! Do you have _any_ idea how close you came to exposing my involvement when you repeated my words to your brute of a son, who of course had to taunt Gúthwyn's child with them? Do you?"

"Please, my lady," Wífwen whimpered, "I promise it will never happen again…"

"Of course it will not," Lothíriel spat, releasing the woman as if she had a disease the queen was afraid of catching, "for you are no longer in my service. You insult me by implying that I would reward such insolence on your part. I would never have carried out such a dimwitted deed, nor would I have lacked the intelligence required to evade the simplistic method Cobryn used to find proof of your actions!" This, more than anything, enraged her: that Cobryn had had such success snaring Wífwen in his feeble trap. Anyone would have seen through the pretense of _household accounts_ in an instant—and yet Wífwen had fallen for it.

"My lady, _please_, I need—"

"The only thing you need is a lesson in discrepancy," Lothíriel snapped, resuming her walk towards the door. Wífwen trailed behind, weeping. "And while you are at it, perhaps you could ensure that your son receives similar instruction, for he seems to be particularly lacking."

"You horrible woman," Wífwen ground out, though her sobs ruined the angry effect. "How would you like it if I said that about _your_ son?"

Lothíriel opened the door. "I am your queen," she replied calmly, her voice not betraying the fact that her insides were boiling at the mention of Elfwine, "and if you ever call me a horrible woman again you will face my husband's wrath. Furthermore, if you ever say anything less than kind about my son, rest assured that you will never be welcome in any social circle again. Do you understand me?"

Wífwen nodded resentfully, the reminder of Lothíriel's status enough to keep her from arguing.

"Excellent," Lothíriel said lightly. "Now, get out." She gestured towards the stairs leading down to the street, back to the Rohirric peasants amongst which Wífwen undoubtedly belonged.

Slowly, Wífwen turned her red eyes away from her queen and walked out of Meduseld. Lothíriel did not watch her go; instead, she shut the door practically on her heels and then leaned against the wooden surface, exhaling. She tried to ignore the nagging feeling within her that she had been too harsh, that for the most part Wífwen had done her best to serve her lady.

_She jeopardized _my _position,_ Lothíriel reminded herself, _and so she had to go._ If Éomer had interrogated Wífwen about the source of her gossip, Wífwen might have cracked under the pressure and revealed everything. Lothíriel did not have to worry about Gúthwyn or Cobryn: the former was determined to convince Éomer that nothing was amiss, and the latter did not want his friend to realize just how much the queen had conspired against her. Yet Wífwen could have been her downfall, the exposure that would make Éomer discover just who, exactly, had started the rumors about his baby sister. Lothíriel could not afford that.

_Yes,_ she assured herself, _dispensing of Wífwen was the right thing to do._

Then why did _you horrible woman_ keep replaying in her mind, as though her conscience was disturbed by it?


	19. An Unanswerable Question

**Chapter Nineteen**

"So, Gúthwyn's bastard injures Wífwen's child—and Wífwen gets fired?"

"It sounds as if that advisor is doing his best to cover up his relations with the king's sister."

"I cannot believe she has the nerve to pretend that she is anything less than a whore! How does Lord Éomer not realize it?"

"Perhaps he does, and is trying to keep her habits a secret."

"He might as well publicly farm her out to his men, for all the good that is doing."

These—and worse—mutterings raced through the streets of Edoras the morning after Wífwen left the Golden Hall, sickening Gúthwyn whenever she caught wind of them. She tried to hold her head high as she limped down the main road with Legolas, who was again supporting her with his arm, but it was difficult when the rumors were so hurtful. It seemed that, no matter what happened, most of the women in Edoras were determined to think that she was a harlot.

"What is wrong?" Legolas inquired concernedly, after several minutes of this had passed. "What are they saying?"

"Nothing," Gúthwyn muttered, too embarrassed to repeat any of it. "It is just gossip."

Legolas fixed her with a look, but luckily Éomund's daughter was spared any potential interrogation by someone who hailed her from across the street.

"Gúthwyn!"

Coming to a halt, Gúthwyn glanced around to see who had addressed her. Her eyes widened as they fell upon Éothain, who was working his way through the crowd in an attempt to reach her. Although his expression did not seem particularly angry, she suddenly feared that he would hate her for what had happened to his wife and his son. What if Wulfríd's injuries were serious, and Éothain wanted some form of redress?

However, "I have come to apologize" were the first words that fell from the soldier's mouth. He was speaking in Rohirric, and soon Legolas's brow was knit in confusion.

"For what?" Gúthwyn inquired, bewildered. If anything, she should have been the one begging for forgiveness. After all, she was indirectly responsible for Wífwen's firing, not to mention the fact that her child had beaten up Éothain's.

"For the conduct of my wife and my son," Éothain explained, looking embarrassed. "I was completely unaware of their behavior until yesterday, and I was shocked to discover that Wífwen bore such ill will towards you. And I thought that Wulfríd had long ago ceased taunting Hammel… My lady, I cannot tell you enough how sorry I am for what they have done."

Gúthwyn hastened to assure him that the actions of his family were not his own. "You need not say anything, for I know you had nothing to do with their deeds. I do not blame you for what happened, and indeed I hope that you will not hold me responsible for the misfortunes that have since fallen upon them."

Éothain stared at her in amazement. "I would never, my lady," he replied, obviously appalled by the mere suggestion. "A thousand thanks for your kindness. I would pray that their misdemeanors have not caused you much grief, but I fear that it is too late."

"Not at all," Gúthwyn said. Her response was close enough to the truth, and she did not want poor Éothain to become even more embarrassed on behalf of his family. "What is done is done."

"You are too generous," Éothain told her, though he was smiling. "Your graciousness will not be forgotten, my lady."

With that vow, he bade her farewell and crossed the street again. Gúthwyn watched him go and then briefly related the conversation to Legolas. "Perhaps you should learn Rohirric," she suggested teasingly, not wishing to dwell on the topic of Wífwen. "You certainly spend enough time in Edoras."

"That would help," Legolas admitted ruefully. "It is difficult not being able to understand the language of your people."

"Our tongue is not an easy one to adopt," Gúthwyn warned, thinking of Lothíriel's numerous failed attempts to do so, "but I shall teach you a few words that you might find useful."

Legolas grinned. "Teach away," he said.

The next hour was occupied by Gúthwyn instructing the Elf in such simple phrases as _hello_, _goodbye_, _please pass the bread/meat/mead_, and _let me tell you a story about Hobbits_. The latter was entirely for Elfwine's benefit.

* * *

><p>In the months following Wífwen's unceremonious dismissal from the employment of the Golden Hall, the attacks on Gúthwyn's character did not abate, as Éomund's daughter had hoped they would. Rumors of her conduct continued their circulation amongst the Rohirric women, if anything becoming more vicious. Luckily, Elfwine's numerous friendships with the children of Edoras ensured that at least their mothers knew Gúthwyn better than to believe she was a whore. "What with all the attention you pay your nephew," one of them scoffed at the notion, "it is a wonder you have time to sleep, never mind this nonsense about your supposed trysts with other men. As if any soldier would dare use that particular weapon on the king's sister!"<p>

Gúthwyn had flushed horribly at the candor with which she was addressed, and indeed felt slightly sick afterwards, but it was comforting to know that at least a few were confident of her innocence—regardless of how grotesquely they phrased such convictions. The same, however, was not true of the younger women who gathered daily in the streets, exchanging gossip under the pretense of washing their clothes. Lothíriel still held sway over them, and had reacted to the termination of Wífwen's employment by spreading even more stories about Éomund's daughter.

Wífwen herself was in disgrace. Gúthwyn was unsure if any of the ex-maid's old cohorts had openly snubbed their fallen friend, but the fact remained that Wífwen soon became a rare presence in the social circles of Edoras. Her son fared worse. Wulfríd's authority over his classmates was broken, his reputation in ruins. Hammel still had few friends, but even those who avoided him treated him with newfound respect. Gúthwyn privately wondered if Aldeth had heard of the brawl between the two boys fighting for her attention; neither Hammel nor Wulfríd had much to gain in the telling.

Wulfríd's family did have one particular stroke of luck, however. Not long after the mother and son fell into ill repute, Éothain was given a promotion by Éomer and became the captain of an _éored_. The nonplussed warrior confessed to an amused Gúthwyn that, while he was exceedingly grateful to the king, he was entirely confused as to how he should have merited this honor. Éomund's daughter had merely smiled and reminded herself to thank Cobryn later on.

Meanwhile, Gúthwyn's life proceeded fairly normally. Her burns eventually recovered, leaving behind numerous scars yet otherwise not causing her further discomfort. Finally able to return to the training grounds, she did so happily, and frequently spent the better part of her days there. Elfwine occupied the rest of her time, filling her afternoons with giddy delight as she laughed at his antics or, more frequently, aided and abetted them.

Although her days were often filled by either training or watching over Elfwine, Gúthwyn continued to set aside time for Haiweth's instruction. Cobryn ended up joining her for most of these sessions, Haiweth having far surpassed Gúthwyn's skills in geography, mathematics, and, quite frankly, nearly everything else. Éomund's daughter did not consider herself uneducated in comparison, however: her tutelage, after all, had been interrupted by her capture, and she had since learned much that could not be found in a book.

That said, hopefully Haiweth would never have need for those lessons, and as a result Gúthwyn and Cobryn taught her what was appropriate for an almost twelve-year-old. Their collaboration, naturally, only served to bring about more rumors of their supposed romantic involvement. Éomund's daughter could not understand why anyone would believe such gossip, especially when the idea of giving herself in that way to another man was sickening.

Yet the stories were apparently convincing enough to make the majority of the female population in Edoras certain of her guilt. Even when she and Cobryn moved Haiweth's lessons into the great hall, so as to preclude any snide comments about their spending hours behind closed doors, the mutterings did not subside. Gúthwyn lost hope of their ever fading away, and was only grateful that none of her friends believed them. She could tolerate the scandal, she thought, so long as the lies never came close to the truth.

Then, one day, they did.

"Auntie Gúthy," Elfwine said on a warm spring afternoon, swinging his legs over the edge of the landing upon the Golden Hall. The two of them were sitting outside, enjoying the sunlight and, in Elfwine's case, playing with various toy soldiers. Gúthwyn had her arm wrapped protectively around her nephew's waist, lest he should fall onto the street below. "I have question."

"What is it, little one?" Gúthwyn asked, smiling down at the child. Almost three, he was naturally curious about everything and constantly peppered her with a barrage of who's, whys, and how comes.

"Who's Borogor?"

Gúthwyn froze, the brightness of the day suddenly darkening. Panic gripped her heart as she asked, "W-Where did you hear that name?"

"Uncle Faramir told you," Elfwine explained, a brief scowl crossing over his face at the mention of the Steward. "I 'member it."

The color drained from Gúthwyn's cheeks as she recalled the particular incident in which Borogor's name had slipped from Faramir's lips. _"Borogor is dead, Gúthwyn, and nothing you do will ever bring him back!"_ the Steward had hissed, believing that Éomund's daughter was manipulating her nephew against him. Elfwine had overheard and, evidently, retained the memory.

"It does not matter, little one," Gúthwyn now told the child wearily, praying that Elfwine had not repeated the name to anyone else.

"Does too," Elfwine asserted petulantly. "He your friend?"

"Elfwine, please," Gúthwyn whispered, swallowing a lump in her throat.

Her nephew blinked, looking worriedly up at her. "Auntie Gúthy, you sad?" he asked, confused. "I do something wrong?"

"It is not your fault," Gúthwyn hastened to assure the toddler, bending over and kissing the top of his head. "It does not matter," she repeated.

"But _Auntie Gúthy_," Elfwine said as the doors to the Golden Hall opened, "I want to know who's Borogor!"

"So would I," a smooth, insincere voice added.

Slowly, Gúthwyn turned around to see Lothíriel standing right before her. The queen smiled frostily and inquired, "Borogor, was it? I have not heard of this one."

Éomund's daughter felt sick when the name of her beloved fell from the lips of her rival. For a moment, she thought she actually would vomit. Borogor was sacred, the one thing above all she could not bear Lothíriel knowing about. _This cannot be happening,_ she thought, tilting her head to the sky and pleading with the Valar. _I beg of you, make this naught but a horrible dream._

"_I_ think Auntie Gúthy and Borogor are friends," Elfwine announced importantly, pleased to have found an ally in his mother. "Auntie Gúthy no say so, but Uncle Faramir talk about Borogor."

Lothíriel shot a quick, calculating look at Gúthwyn. "So, even Faramir's men are not safe?" the queen asked quietly, cynically. "My, you really have worn out the selection in Edoras."

"Stop it," Gúthwyn gasped, horrified. "That is a lie!"

"Pathetic," Lothíriel laughed, her voice low so as not to attract the attention of the guards. "Everyone knows what you are; there is no need for such pretensions."

In one swift motion, Gúthwyn had scooped Elfwine up in her arms and leapt to her feet. "Excuse me," she said coldly, making to stride past the wretched woman in her path.

"Just where do you think you are going with my son?" Lothíriel inquired icily, shifting so that Gúthwyn could not get by. "I believe you have spent enough time with him for one day."

"I never spend enough time with Auntie Gúthy!" Elfwine protested as Éomund's daughter flinched.

"Unfortunately for you, Elfwine, your mother does not approve of dear _Auntie Gúthy_'s influence," Lothíriel said triumphantly. To Éomund's daughter, she spoke, "Hand over my son. Now."

Gúthwyn gave Elfwine a brief, tight hug, placing a palm over his right ear and muffling the other with her chest. Only then, when her nephew's hearing was impaired, did she whisper, "I hate you."

Lothíriel's eyes glinted. "The feeling is assuredly mutual."

Éomund's daughter wished with all her heart that she could strike her brother's wife, but her place and her loyalty to Éomer—not to mention the fact that she was in full view of the townspeople and the guards—forbade it. Instead, she reluctantly held out her nephew, yet not before kissing him one last time. "I love you, little one," she murmured.

"I love you too, Auntie Gúthy!" Elfwine replied cheerfully, though his wrinkled brow suggested that he was not as unaware of what had transpired between the two women as Gúthwyn would have liked. "I play with you later?"

"No," Lothíriel answered; Gúthwyn had not even drawn breath to reply. "I expect that your aunt has appointments that she needs to keep, and I for one would not dream of getting in the way of her busy schedule."

_You are despicable,_ Gúthwyn silently told her brother's wife.

"What 'pointments?" Elfwine wanted to know.

"Auntie Gúthwyn has many friends," Lothíriel informed her son, smiling at Gúthwyn's evident disgust. "She plays with them every day."

"I play with my friends, too!" Elfwine cried gleefully, beaming at Éomund's daughter.

Gúthwyn could only shake her head and walk away, revolted. After the guards had opened the doors for her, she stalked into the Golden Hall. Blood pounded in her ears. Elfwine's cries of "Auntie Gúthy, where you going? Auntie Gúthy, come back!" echoed after her, making her even more incensed. What Lothíriel had just done was heinous. Not only had she uttered Borogor's name, but she had deliberately used Elfwine as a means of getting revenge on her rival.

_That awful, foul woman,_ Gúthwyn thought, storming into her chambers. How could Éomer have married her?

She knew the answer. Sinking into the chair at her desk, Gúthwyn reflected that Lothíriel was as good a wife to Éomer as the king could ever want… but for some reason she hated Éomund's daughter, loathing her enough to spread malicious lies about her.

_What have I ever done to Lothíriel?_ she wondered for what felt like the thousandth time. The incident at the training grounds, wherein she had defeated the queen in front of several spectators—including Éomer—was surely not cause for such retribution. Over the past four years, Gúthwyn had been insulted, taunted, bullied, and manipulated by her brother's wife. What crime had she committed to warrant such treatment?

Sighing, Éomund's daughter accepted the inevitable conclusion to her musings: perhaps she would never find out why Lothíriel bore such animosity towards her. The queen, certainly, would not fill her in, and Gúthwyn had not the faintest idea. She had tried to be forgiving of Lothíriel, especially after learning about how she had been ostracized by her peers in Dol Amroth, but such grace was proving increasingly harder to dole out when the queen appeared bent on destroying her.

Gúthwyn examined her surroundings with a groan, searching for something that she could do to keep her mind off of Lothíriel. Her gaze fell upon the drawer in the nightstand beside her bed, and without thinking she left her chair and started towards it. Hearing Elfwine speak of Borogor with no understanding of what the man meant to her—it had disturbed her, disquieted her. Of all the names for her nephew to remember… he had only been two when he overheard her conversation with the Steward. He must have been curious about her reaction and held onto the memory, an unsolved mystery for him.

Gúthwyn's body and heart ached for Borogor's comforting touch until she could no longer bear it. With a soft cry she wrenched her eyes away from the drawer, refusing to make herself even more miserable than she already felt. She would not read Beregil's poems. She would not torment herself with what she had lost, with what could have been.

As she stood there, her chest heaving and her fists clenched, light footsteps sounded upon the threshold. Gúthwyn knew before she turned around that she would see Lothíriel leaning against the door, smirking.

"Get out," Gúthwyn snarled; the queen had not yet opened her mouth.

Lothíriel feigned concern. "Are you upset, baby sister, that your time with Elfwine has been limited?" she asked, strolling around Éomund's daughter. Gúthwyn kept turning so that she was facing the other woman, not about to leave her back exposed.

"If I had a son," Éomund's daughter spat, "I would never use him as a tool for my petty schemes."

"_If I had a son_," Lothíriel mimicked her, laughing scornfully. "Well, I am sure that it pleases Hammel to be kept out of your affairs, for it means that he has the better excuse to avoid you. Even he is ashamed of the whore that is his mother: he denies any relation between the two of you!"

"Because there is none!" Gúthwyn exclaimed, nauseated. Lothíriel's words had also struck a chord within her that she was all too aware of—Hammel's distance from her. "Your claims are based on nothing!"

"I have seen you take Cobryn to your room in the dead of night," Lothíriel reminded her cruelly. "You yourself confessed that you are no longer a virgin, and it is obvious what your duties were as the only woman in Sauron's army. I know your wits are dull and your education is lacking, but surely you are not so foolish as to try to convince me that your deeds have no evidence behind them?"

"Get out," Gúthwyn repeated, dangerously close to tears as memories of her time in Mordor resurfaced.

"What does surprise me, I must admit," Lothíriel continued, ignoring her, "is that you have already exhausted the supply of men in Rohan—no small pool, might I add. Tell me, how does Faramir feel about your making forays into his company of Rangers? Ought I to inform him that this Borogor is playing with the royal whore of Edoras, a woman who will set him carelessly aside in favor of the next soldier?"

Gúthwyn felt her face grow red—not in humiliation, but in hatred so potent that she was shaking from the effort it took to restrain herself from murder. "You know nothing of what you speak," she snarled, her fists curled so tightly that her nails broke through the skin of her palm. "You are so blinded by your lies that you seize any excuse to slander me, regardless of the truth of it. You have no idea who Borogor is. How dare you even utter his name?"

"It is rather evident who _Borogor_ is, given that my son overheard you talking to Faramir about the man," Lothíriel replied, purposefully putting an emphasis on _Borogor_. "Aside from the fact that I think you discussing your conquests in front of my child is reprehensible, I have to marvel at your taking Borogor to your bed when—"

Something inside Gúthwyn snapped. Abruptly she spun around and stormed to the door, shutting it so that no one passing through the hall could look inside. She then turned and bore down upon Lothíriel, seizing her by the neck before the queen knew what was happening. "Be quiet," she ordered as her brother's wife gasped for breath, eyes wide in shock. The urge to kill, destroy, was coursing through her veins, but for Éomer's sake—and only Éomer's sake—Gúthwyn stayed the power she so desperately wanted to give in to. Dragging the other woman a couple of feet away, she slammed that delicate back into the wall with as much force as possible.

"Let go of me!" Lothíriel cried, her nails clawing ineffectively at Gúthwyn's arm.

In response, Gúthwyn shoved the queen into the wall a second time. She was shorter and lighter than her rival, but also angrier; passionate hatred sufficed where bulk could not, the fury in her eyes where height would not intimidate. "If I ever hear you say that name again," Éomund's daughter spat, "I will tell Éomer everything! Do you understand me? If you so much as _whisper_ 'Borogor,' my brother will hate you for the rest of his life! All of the rumors you have spread about me, all of the insults I have borne at your hands I have endured out of love for Éomer, but not this! Your husband will know everything, and he will loathe you for it!"

"You would not," Lothíriel choked out. "You would not dare, _baby _sister, to ruin your brother's happiness!"

"Try me!" Gúthwyn hissed. Reaching behind the queen, she grabbed a fistful of silky black hair and yanked down as hard as she could, still retaining a tight hold on the woman's neck. Lothíriel whimpered in pain as her head banged into the wall. "Say his name again," Gúthwyn growled, "and from that day forward there will never be peace in your marriage. _Have I made myself perfectly clear?_"

Unable to do anything else, Lothíriel nodded obediently. Her face was starting to turn a faint shade of purple from lack of air. Gúthwyn, however, was not finished. "And if I hear _anyone_ else speak of him, I shall not hesitate to bring this down upon you. I would expose my brother to his wife's backstabbing, malicious ways before hearing that man mocked as one of my customers. Share his name with a single living soul, and you will regret it for as long as you live!"

With that, she pulled the queen from the wall and thrust her away. Lothíriel immediately doubled over, clutching at her neck. Gúthwyn could see the white imprints of her own fingers jutting out sharply from a landscape of red skin. "This matter shall remain between us," she said harshly, talking over Lothíriel's ragged breaths. "Or else my brother learns everything."

Lothíriel could only stare at her, panting.

"I cannot possibly begin to fathom why you hate me," Éomund's daughter continued, her voice steadily growing more forceful, "nor why you feel the need to insult me whenever we speak, nor why you so frequently stoke unfounded rumors about me amongst the women of Edoras, but all of this I shall overlook unless you give me reason not to. You know that reason—but do not think that I am jesting, for I have never been more serious with you than I am now."

Slowly, Lothíriel straightened. "You have made your point," she said slowly, bitterly, "with undue amounts of savage behavior."

Gúthwyn raised an eyebrow. "Do I look overly concerned about the condition of your neck? No? I thought not."

Lothíriel's gaze would have burned holes into Gúthwyn's, had Éomund's daughter not been in so wrathful a mood. "Éomer might be at first inclined to believe your claims of innocence," the queen began hotly, "but when confronted by my evidence he will be forced to admit that he was in the wrong. Your telling him of our quarrel will do nothing to improve your position."

"You have no evidence," Gúthwyn replied, her voice deadly quiet, "and you have never been more wrong about my brother. Now, leave me."

Lothíriel chuckled, an adult amused by the arrogance of a child. "You do not give orders to a queen."

"In case you have not noticed, I obey you only in public, and then only for Éomer's benefit," Gúthwyn retorted. "With neither others nor the king present, I see no reason to treat you with the respect you do not deserve. Get out, or I will throw you out. Take your pick."

"You will regret this," Lothíriel warned, no longer smiling.

"Leave," Gúthwyn said succinctly.

Nostrils flared, Lothíriel swept out of the room, still massaging her neck. The second she was gone Gúthwyn sank down into her desk chair, pressing a trembling hand over her pounding heart. Regardless of whether or not Lothíriel took her threat seriously, the fact remained that the queen still knew Borogor's name. It was secret no more. What was worse, Elfwine might have told anyone—Éomer, Cobryn, even Legolas—without her awareness. How many tongues had the name of her love fallen from, each time tarnished just a little more?

"You look as if your best friend just died."

Jumping, Gúthwyn glanced up to espy Cobryn leaning against the doorframe. "Cobryn!" she gasped, relief flooding her as she realized that Lothíriel had not returned to mock her further. "You startled me."

"I can see that," Cobryn replied, dragging another chair towards her and settling down in it. "What did Lothíriel want with you?"

Gúthwyn blinked. "How did you—"

"You did not notice me when you went through the throne room," Cobryn explained, "for I was off to the side doing paperwork; but I observed that you were upset, and I was about to follow you when Lothíriel came into the hall. Almost immediately after she entered, she summoned Nethiel and told the maid to watch Elfwine (something I can assure you your nephew was not pleased with) while she spoke with you. I was curious when she went into your chambers and, I must admit, rather worried. Only when she emerged could I come. What happened?"

Gúthwyn exhaled, and told him the whole story—leaving out just Borogor's name. By the time she had finished, Cobryn's jaw was clenched.

"I doubt she actually believes he is a customer," he remarked. "More likely, she realized that he was someone important to you and took advantage of that weakness."

"She is horrible!" Gúthwyn exclaimed, appalled that anyone would do such a thing.

"Clearly, firing Wífwen just made her worse," Cobryn responded, "save that now she has control over one less maid. Which, given the number of other, equally servile attendants in the Golden Hall, is not particularly comforting."

Gúthwyn groaned. "I just wish she would bring an end to this war. I have already fought in one; I do not need this, as well."

"_You_ could stop it," Cobryn pointed out, "if you told Éomer."

"I cannot do that!" Gúthwyn cried, blanching at the very idea. "Éomer loves her; he would be devastated if he found out what she was doing. I could not live with myself if I was the person to ruin his marriage. And what of Elfwine? He deserves to have two parents who care for each other."

"And yet you just warned Lothíriel that you would have no qualms against going to Éomer."

"_If_ she mentioned the name to anyone," Gúthwyn reminded Cobryn, her features suddenly stony. "Then I shall have to, for I could not bear the speculation such a whisper might bring. But otherwise, I will keep my silence."

"Martyrdom is rarely a wise course of action," Cobryn said. "Especially if it is for Lothíriel's sake."

"Elfwine's," Gúthwyn was quick to correct.

Cobryn sighed, clearly exasperated. "Gúthwyn, I am growing tired of plotting defenses in dark corners, of watching you endure blow after blow. This war cannot go on forever. One of you has to end it."

"Perhaps she will grow tired of it someday," Gúthwyn suggested, her half-hearted tone betraying the optimistic nature of her statement.

Cobryn snorted.

"Do not hold your breath," he advised.


	20. Confusion at the Training Grounds

**Chapter Twenty**

Lothíriel must have realized that Gúthwyn's threat was serious, for the rest of spring passed without Borogor's name being hawked in the streets. For a time, some of the rumors even ebbed away. By no means had the glares lessoned, nor had the mandated social ostracizing been repealed, but at the very least Gúthwyn did not have to fear others tarnishing the memory of her beloved. Summer came in the meantime, and with it Gúthwyn's twenty-sixth birthday. Éomer finally realized that she had little use for fancy gowns and instead bought her a fur-lined cloak, much to her delight. A month later Legolas visited Rohan, as usual en route to Eryn Lasgalen to conduct business with his father.

Elfwine was ecstatic about this turn of events. For the past season, he had been whining to Éomer about when the Effs would return. Now they were here, and he enjoyed befriending all of them. Raniean, of course, could not be moved, but the other Elves were more willing to humor their young host. Gúthwyn, naturally, oversaw every interaction between her nephew and Legolas's companions, relieved to note that there were no sinister overtones in their conversations. Although her vigilance meant that she was closer to Elves than she would have liked to be, Elfwine was clearly happy and she swallowed her fears for his sake.

The fact that Gúthwyn and her nephew were spending most of their days together did not escape Lothíriel's notice. She grew remarkably chillier towards Éomund's daughter as Legolas's visit went on, frequently insinuating to Éomer that the young prince needed less outings with his aunt and more with his mother and father. Luckily, Éomer was clearly pleased that his son and sister were getting along so well, and rarely moved to separate them unless he happened to have a free afternoon. Even then, he would often invite Gúthwyn and Legolas to accompany him and his wife on their family excursions. Gúthwyn regretted intruding on Lothíriel's time with Elfwine, but against her brother's wishes she could do nothing.

Unfortunately for Lothíriel, Elfwine appeared to prefer Gúthwyn's company to his mother's. This was evidenced one night, when a persistent knocking on Gúthwyn's door abruptly pulled her from her sleep.

"Who is there?" Éomund's daughter demanded groggily, wondering why she had been awoken at this hour. It had to have been early morning already; she had been having a dream about Borogor, one in which she and Hammel and Haiweth were—

"Auntie Gúthy?"

"Elfwine?" Gúthwyn inquired as the door slowly opened, unsure of whether she had heard right. "Little one, is that you?"

Elfwine's head, the hair upon it tousled from sleep, peered into the room. "Auntie Gúthy, you there?" he asked, squinting at her.

"I am right here," Gúthwyn replied, confused. Had her dream just taken an odd turn of events? "What are you doing, little one? It is the middle of the night!"

Elfwine's bottom lip trembled. Scurrying into her room, he used the trunk at the foot of her bed to climb onto her mattress. Crawling over to her, he announced, "I had bad dream." Tears were now leaking from his eyes.

"What was it about?" Gúthwyn asked softly, any irritation that she might have felt at the abrupt termination of her sleep vanishing in an instant.

"You went away," Elfwine said worriedly, lunging into her lap. He began crying; Gúthwyn immediately wrapped her arms around him, kissing his head and rubbing his back.

"Do not worry, little one," she whispered reassuringly, her heart twisting at the sight of her nephew so upset. "I am still here, I promise."

"Y-You went away and I no f-find you!" Elfwine bawled, clutching at her shirt. "Where you go?"

"Nowhere," Gúthwyn told him firmly, pulling one of her blankets over his trembling body. "I am here with you, I swear." As she spoke, she wondered how Elfwine had managed to brave the dark and find her, especially when the safety and comfort of his mother and father had been only a few feet away in his own room.

The young prince sniffled. "Promise?"

"Promise," Gúthwyn said sincerely.

"Can I stay with you, Auntie Gúthy?" the child pleaded, looking up at her with round, tearful eyes. "Please?"

Gúthwyn hesitated. She knew that allowing this would enable her nephew to sleep with ease, but she did not want her brother to wake up in the middle of the night and panic when he did not see his son.

"_Please?_" Elfwine begged, seeing her uncertainty.

"All right, little one," Gúthwyn conceded, unable to refuse those wide brown eyes. "You can remain with me." Once Elfwine fell asleep, she decided, she would return him to Éomer's chambers.

"Thank you, Auntie Gúthy!" her nephew cried, relieved. He hugged her tightly, his small arms easily wrapping around her thin frame.

Ruffling his hair, Gúthwyn replied, "You are most welcome. Now, let us get you under the covers, so that you can sleep without nightmares."

"Okay, Auntie Gúthy," Elfwine said. He then burrowed under the rest of her blankets, curling up against her.

"Are you comfortable, little one?" Gúthwyn inquired, lying down and putting an arm around the child.

"Yes," Elfwine assured her, wiping the last of the dried tears from his cheeks. "I feel better now."

"I am glad to hear it," Gúthwyn responded, stroking his hair. She felt herself calmed by Elfwine's presence; she had almost forgotten what it was like to hold a child in her arms at night, something she had not done in years. Hammel and Haiweth had long outgrown the cuddling age, and she had not realized how much she missed it until now.

"Auntie Gúthy?" Elfwine asked then, craning his neck to gaze up at her.

"Yes, little one?"

"Why do you have lots of candles?" Elfwine wanted to know.

"I prefer light to darkness," Gúthwyn explained. "Do they bother you?" Frowning, she counted the number of tapers she had lit. Tonight there were four, and she could possibly extinguish two—but not even for Elfwine would she put out the rest.

To her relief, Elfwine shook his head. "No. I like them."

"Good," Gúthwyn could not help but say. "So do I."

They lay there for a long time, Éomund's daughter fighting off her own need for sleep as Elfwine's breathing became slow and rhythmic. She held her nephew long after she was convinced that he had surrendered once more to the world of dreams, a selfish part of her reveling in the fact that a child was in her arms.

_If only he were mine,_ she thought with a wistful sigh. For a moment, but only a moment, she allowed herself to imagine that the toddler beside her was her own, someone who would wake up the next day and rely upon her to clothe them, feed them, educate them. Someone whom she had given both birth and suck to, someone who would one day give her grandchildren…

"Auntie Gúthy," Elfwine mumbled in his sleep.

Gúthwyn exhaled, the spell broken. She was not a mother. She was an aunt, and the child at her side was her brother's son. Reluctantly she pulled the blankets back, taking care not to disturb Elfwine. Reaching over, she picked him up and cradled him to her chest. Elfwine stirred, but did not wake as she balanced him on her hip; nor did he move when she began walking.

Her going slow so as to avoid jostling Elfwine, Gúthwyn left her chambers and headed for her brother's room. She only paused when she entered the hall and saw the Elves sleeping on the floor: for a moment she froze, but then she steeled herself on and went through the throne room. When she reached Éomer's chambers, the door to which was open a crack, she slipped quietly through.

She was glad to note that both her brother and his wife were breathing deeply, their rest undisturbed by Elfwine's roaming. After tiptoeing across the room, she knelt by her nephew's little bed (he had just graduated from the cradle this year) and slowly lowered him onto it. "Sleep well," she whispered, tucking him into the blankets.

"Sister?"

The sound of her brother's voice, though groggy and confused and in no way intimidating, nevertheless caused Gúthwyn to jump guiltily. Whirling around, she saw that Éomer was sitting up and squinting his eyes at her. "What is wrong?" he asked, his gaze darting to his son.

"Elfwine had a nightmare," Gúthwyn explained quietly, trying not to awaken Lothíriel. "He came to me and I was bringing him back—forgive me, I did not mean to—I-I am so sorry—"

Éomer waved away the apology. Pushing aside the covers, he got out of the bed and came over towards Gúthwyn. "What was his nightmare about?" he inquired, frowning.

"He dreamt that I was leaving him," Gúthwyn explained, sighing as she brushed a stray wisp of hair from her nephew's face. "He came into my room and asked if he could stay with me."

Éomer put a hand on her shoulder, squeezing it. "I pray that his thoughts are not portent," he remarked, grinning at her.

Gúthwyn smiled. "Dear brother, do not worry. You are stuck with me for the time being—and I hope for the rest of my life."

Chuckling, Éomer replied, "I would never call your presence a curse. Indeed, I thank the Valar for it every day."

Éomund's daughter blushed. "You are too kind," she murmured, gazing down at Elfwine.

"I mean it," Éomer insisted. "Look at how my son adores you. Look at how the people love you. You are indeed a blessing, though you are often blind to your own worth."

Gúthwyn would not have been surprised if her cheeks were scarlet. "Brother, you are embarrassing me," she muttered.

"I am just glad that you are here," Éomer responded sincerely. "Not ten years ago, I thought I would never see you again."

A cloud passed over Gúthwyn's features. "Please, let us not speak of those days," she begged him softly. It had been over a decade since she had first submitted to slavery in Haldor's bed—on a night like this ten years ago she had probably been pinned beneath the Elf, gasping for air and sanity as he violated her again and again. She did not want to relive the experience.

Éomer noticed the shadows on her face, and not only the ones that were caused by the darkness in the room. "As you wish, baby sister," he conceded. "Forgive me."

"There is nothing to forgive," Gúthwyn whispered.

For a long moment there was silence, and both of them simply watched Elfwine. The little heir of Rohan was sleeping soundly, his blankets pulled all the way up to his tiny nose.

"Thank you," Éomer spoke at length, "for taking care of him so often. I do not express my gratitude enough, but know that I am forever in debt to you."

"You are not," Gúthwyn protested. "I love my nephew; it is never an imposition to occupy him while you and Lothíriel are at meetings. Indeed, you could be in the council room the entire day and I would hardly notice."

Again, she found herself wishing that Elfwine was her own child. Why did the Valar have to be so cruel, refusing to give her what she wanted more than anything in Middle-earth unless she submitted to the one act she would never willingly perform? What sort of joy did they derive from taunting her, from offering her a son or a daughter if only she would cast aside the last remaining shreds of her dignity?

"I would return the favor," Éomer began, "if…" He trailed off.

"Éomer, please!" Gúthwyn exclaimed, stunned that he would bring up marriage at a time like this. _You, too?_ she demanded silently, thinking of Éowyn's inexplicable quest to see her wed. _After promising not to force me into a union with another?_

"I did not mean it like that," Éomer assured her quickly. "I have given you my word, and I shall never pressure you to find a husband. Yet well do I know that you would like a child of your own."

Gúthwyn nodded, a lump in her throat suddenly making it difficult for her to speak. "A-At least I have Hammel and Haiweth," she managed.

Éomer looked at her pityingly, as if to say _stop deluding yourself_, but he remained silent.

"I-I just wish it did not have to be this way!" Gúthwyn burst out, though out of courtesy to Elfwine and Lothíriel her voice barely rose. "Haldor ruined everything, everything! Because of him, I will n-never have children!" She was trying not to sob as she spoke, but it was a near impossible task and a few tears broke through her defenses.

"Sister, I am so sorry," Éomer said, embracing her tightly. This only made her cry harder. "I would have given anything for that hunter to take me in your place. You deserved none of what happened to you, and I feel powerless when I see how it affects you day after day!"

"I want to forget about it," Gúthwyn choked out, her shoulders shaking, "but he always finds me in my dreams… He invades my thoughts when I least expect it, and once he is there I can never make him go away…"

"Time heals everything," Éomer promised, steadying her when her knees buckled. "It will not lessen the initial hurt, but I swear to you, sister, someday he will be no more than a distant memory that only occasionally returns to trouble you."

"When?" Gúthwyn wanted to know, her voice so weak that Éomer could barely hear it. "I left Mordor seven years ago, and every day I experience anew what he did to me—there is always something that makes me recall the hours I spent in his tent. C-Cobryn told me to determine what triggers these… these flashbacks, and then to avoid them, but how can I when they constantly change and I never know when they will strike?"

"I wish I could tell you," Éomer replied, helplessly. "Yet someday, baby sister, you will not live in the past. I am sure of it."

_If only I were, too,_ Gúthwyn thought. "Maybe," she murmured, "if the Valar will it."

"They shall," Éomer vowed. "You deserve nothing less."

Gúthwyn did not have the heart to tell her brother that many times, what one deserved and what one received were entirely at odds.

* * *

><p>In between skirmishes at the training grounds the next morning, Gúthwyn found herself yawning. Thanks to Elfwine's nightmare, and her subsequent conversation with Éomer, she had gotten very little sleep and was now feeling the aftereffects. It was certainly showing in her duels with the other men, which were far less easily won and occasionally even lost. Normally, only Éomer, Gamling, and the Marshals could claim victory from her; today, others had been able to do so as well.<p>

Her sole saving grace was the fact that she had not flinched, not even the tiniest amount, when Legolas and Faelon entered the training grounds. Éomund's daughter could not say that the thought of Haldor did not still cross her mind whenever she saw the Elf that could have been his identical twin, but the two were becoming more and more separate as time went by. She liked this. Legolas was kind, gentle, and caring; he devoted attention to Elfwine; he was everything that she had thought Haldor was.

She could almost remember how she had fallen in love with Haldor in the first place, which traits of his had blinded her to the sadistic monster that now haunted her nightmares. It was possible for her to look at Legolas and recall how those same blue eyes had once captivated her, how at one time she would have given anything to run her fingers through that golden hair. How she had dreamed of kissing him…

_What am I thinking?_ Gúthwyn suddenly asked herself. Aghast, she wrenched her eyes away from Legolas. She felt sick—how could she have even _acknowledged_ the fact that Haldor was handsome? That she had ever been in love with him? What would Borogor say if he could hear her thoughts?

As much as she tried to ignore Legolas's presence, however, Éomund's daughter could not very well block her ears—which suddenly seemed to adopt an infuriating keenness.

"Is this what your princely education has given you?" she heard Faelon taunting Legolas good-naturedly. "The inability to ward off a single of your friend's attacks?"

"You know fully well that anyone thrice my superior in the art of a sword would hesitate to challenge you," Legolas replied as Gúthwyn looked over, curious in spite of herself. She had heard rumors of Faelon's excellence. The men on the training grounds were always murmuring about Legolas's companion, whom they said rarely had to expend energy to defeat the prince. She had not yet dared to see for herself whether the stories were true, for to do so would be to watch an Elf.

Yet now she did, and what she saw confirmed what her friends had said. Faelon was pushing Legolas back effortlessly, his blade a mere blur as he defended and countered. Legolas was by no means a poor swordsman, but he could never hold Faelon at bay for long. Again and again Faelon found his way under the prince's guard, taking advantages of openings that even Gúthwyn could not espy.

"You can do better," Faelon berated Legolas, hardly panting as he spoke. "Come, friend, what are you going to do when your bow is not at hand?"

"Pray that it is not you whom I am fighting," Legolas retorted, launching a sudden attack. Faelon repelled it as if Legolas's knives were mere blades of grass; the twin daggers were easily knocked aside, their incompetence frustrating their owner. "Perhaps we should call it quits," Legolas grumbled, though he clearly was not bothered by his friend's triumph. "I think you have made your point quite thoroughly."

"Giving up?" Faelon asked, nevertheless lowering his blade. "You ought to be ashamed of yourself."

"At least my father is not around to see my disgrace," Legolas chuckled, setting aside his sword. "I am going to get a drink of water. I will be back in a moment, hopefully better prepared."

"I will hold you to it," Faelon threatened, pointing his weapon at Legolas in mock threat.

Thranduil's son merely laughed, turning away from his friend. It was then that he saw Gúthwyn, who too late realized that she was staring.

"You seem tired," Legolas remarked concernedly, drawing closer to her. "Is everything well?"

"Elfwine had a nightmare," Éomund's daughter admitted. "I stayed up to comfort him and, in the process, deprived myself of sleep. I did not mind, of course," she hastened to assure the prince, "but now I find that practice is difficult."

"Perhaps you should rest," Legolas suggested, retrieving a canteen from the ground. Taking a long draught from it, he added, "It would be more beneficial than forcing your body to remain awake."

Gúthwyn shrugged. "I will catch up tomorrow," she said.

Legolas gave a small smile, as if to say, _It is your choice,_ and for a moment there was silence between them as he drank some more.

"Your friend," Gúthwyn began at length, glancing over at Faelon, "is immensely gifted with a blade."

"Aye, there are few who can rightfully be considered his equal," Legolas readily agreed. "He spent most of his childhood training and now reaps the benefits."

"Is his practice schedule as rigorous as yours?" Gúthwyn asked with a grin, recalling how Legolas's companions often declared that his routine was borderline obsessive.

"Undoubtedly moreso," Legolas replied fervently. "Faelon has not the concerns of a colony to keep him from his passions, for which I envy him on numerous occasions."

Gúthwyn smiled, watching as Faelon twirled his sword around experimentally. Each movement was that of an artist, rather than a soldier; no one she knew, not even Borogor, was that talented. "He looks as if he has been training for thousands of years," she remarked.

"Not quite _thousands_," Legolas answered, "for he is my age; but certainly hundreds, at the very least."

Sighing jealously, Gúthwyn could only wish that she had such time to devote to the art of wielding a sword. Perhaps if she had that many decades behind her, and her fear of Elves were not so potent, she would challenge Faelon; but until then, she knew the cause was hopeless.

"Are you planning to train all day?" Legolas asked her at length, for she had fallen into thoughtful silence and had half-forgotten about the conversation she was supposed to be maintaining.

"No," Éomund's daughter replied, blushing at her inabilities as a hostess. "I think I might turn in after an hour, for my being so tired is certainly not helping anyone."

"Least of all yourself," Legolas pointed out.

Gúthwyn shrugged, but the next instant had to struggle to cover up a yawn. Legolas, of course, noticed. "You and Aragorn," he muttered, rolling his eyes. "Or are all mortals like this?"

"No, just us," Gúthwyn admitted, thinking that most reasonable people in her position would have elected to stay in bed rather than attend a grueling training session.

Legolas chuckled. "I could have guessed," he responded, "for I have never met a woman like you."

Gúthwyn flushed, her cheeks a dark crimson against her pale skin. Was it her, or was there a kinder edge to his teasing? Had he been… complimenting her? "Y-You jest," she stammered, feeling like an idiot for not being able to tell.

"On the contrary," Legolas answered earnestly, his gaze holding hers. She watched him in confusion, trying not to notice just how warm his blue eyes were. "I am quite serious."

"Th-Thank you," she murmured uncertainly, not knowing what else to say in response.

"My lady?"

She and Legolas both turned to see Tun approaching, sword in hand and a tentative smile upon his face. "Am I interrupting something?" he inquired, glancing back and forth between Gúthwyn and the Elf.

"Not at all," Legolas said graciously. "I should go," he added to Gúthwyn, smiling at her. "Faelon might think I am avoiding him, and he would never let me hear the end of it."

"He already appears suspicious," Gúthwyn noted, laughing a little. Faelon was still practicing various maneuvers, but he was watching Legolas closely. "Farewell," Éomund's daughter bade the Elf, somewhat relieved that the awkward moment had passed. "Good luck!"

"Thank you," Legolas said. "I shall certainly need it!"

He then returned to Faelon, leaving Gúthwyn to wonder what had just transpired between them. She was distracted almost immediately, however, by the sound of Tun clearing his throat. "I was hoping we might spar together," her friend said quietly.

"Of course," Gúthwyn agreed cheerfully, resolving to think no further of her increasingly indefinable relationship with Legolas. "I would love to."

As they assumed their positions, Tun hesitated and then asked, "What were you and Legolas discussing? I noticed that you were blushing."

Naturally, Gúthwyn's cheeks only turned redder when she realized that Tun had witnessed their interaction. She hoped few others had.

"He was complimenting me on my fighting prowess," she lied, reluctant to tell the truth to a man whom she knew still loved her. It was cruel and unnecessary; and she herself could not make sense of it, so why trouble her champion?

For a moment, she thought that Tun did not believe her. "I see," he said, his countenance clearly perturbed. Gúthwyn waited nervously for him to press the issue, but to her surprise—and immense gratitude—he did not. "Shall we?" he merely inquired.

Gúthwyn nodded, and without another word they began to duel.


	21. Implications

**Chapter Twenty-One**

"Auntie Gúthy," Elfwine said later that afternoon, gazing up at Éomund's daughter. His hand was clasped in hers, and he swung it as he continued, "I have question."

"Yes, little one?" Gúthwyn inquired, smiling down at the top of his head. The two of them were walking through the main road; Éomer had called a meeting after lunch, asking if Gúthwyn would mind keeping his son occupied. Gúthwyn had gladly agreed, and was pleased to note that her nephew seemed to have forgotten his disturbing dream from the night before. He was certainly back to his usual barrage of never-ending inquiries.

"Why won't Ran-in be friends with me?" Elfwine demanded then, pouting. "He don't like me."

Gúthwyn's lips pursed. She knew why Elfwine was concerned about the aloof Elf who was never far from Legolas. Raniean had come into the hall while they were eating their afternoon meal, a bow over his shoulder and his usual contemptuous expression—the one that suggested he was lowering himself simply by being in Edoras—firmly in place.

Always outgoing, Elfwine had waved at the Elf and asked him what he was doing. Raniean had cast Gúthwyn a chilly glance and swept away, not even looking at Elfwine. Éomund's daughter doubted that he had understood what her nephew was saying, for she had not heard him speak an iota of the Common Tongue and she assumed he had not bothered to learn it, but that was no excuse for his rudeness.

"Raniean does not like humans, little one," Gúthwyn gently informed her nephew. "It is not just you."

"Why?" Elfwine asked, confused. "Because we don't have funny ears?"

Gúthwyn had to bite her lip to keep from laughing. "No, little one," she replied, suppressing a grin.

"Then why?" Elfwine wanted to know. "I no different than Eff. I friends with lots of Effs, like Leggy and Tree-on and Fye-on. Why don't Ran-in like me, Auntie Gúthy?"

_Because he is arrogant and condescending, just like the rest of his kind,_ Gúthwyn longed to say, but she held her tongue. Her nephew worshipped the Elves, and she did not want to badmouth them in front of him. Luckily, she was spared from answering by the appearance of Legolas, who had just emerged from the crowd in front of them. "Little one, look," she murmured instead, pointing.

"But—" Elfwine protested the distraction until he glanced over and realized what it was. "Leggy!" he cried happily, waving. "Leggy, here!"

Legolas's head snapped up; where before he had appeared to be deep in thought, now he scanned the crowd for his hailer. He smiled when at last he caught sight of Elfwine, and closed the distance between them. "Hello, my friend," he greeted the child, nodding at Gúthwyn. Éomund's daughter blushed, recalling his compliment from earlier that morning, but she was glad to note that she no longer had the urge to clutch her nephew to her chest and keep him away from the Elf before her.

"Leggy!" Elfwine eagerly exclaimed, bouncing up and down. Gúthwyn's hand, which was holding the young prince's, was jolted along with his movements. "Where you been?"

"At the training grounds," Legolas replied, chuckling at the boy's enthusiasm.

Elfwine's eyes widened. "Auntie Gúthy goes there!" he announced proudly. "Auntie Gúthy fights, just like Papa. I want to go, too, but Papa says I can't." He frowned. "But I's a big boy! I can fight, too!"

Legolas nodded gravely, though his eyes were full of hidden laughter.

"I know you are a big boy," Gúthwyn said indulgently, bending over and kissing the top of her nephew's head, "but you need to be an even bigger boy to use the training grounds. First you will have to take lessons with Cobryn, once his students finish their tutelage."

Elfwine's forehead wrinkled. "I have to wait?" he asked, frowning.

"Unfortunately, you do," Gúthwyn told him.

Elfwine's expression became pained. "But, Auntie Gúthy! I don't want to wait!"

"I had to wait twelve years before I could learn how to use a sword," Gúthwyn said, exchanging an amused glance with Legolas. "You are lucky that you are a prince and will receive instruction much earlier."

"Twelve?" Elfwine repeated indignantly. "That's forever!"

"Tell me about it," Gúthwyn replied with a grin. She remembered having the same feelings whenever she saw Éowyn practicing with Théoden, or whenever Éomer and his friends would spar with each other in front of her wide eyes.

"I don't like it." Elfwine pouted, a scowl on his features.

"I am sorry, little one," Gúthwyn murmured, ruffling his hair, "but you have some time to go before you are ready."

"How is Cobryn's class?" Legolas inquired then, looking curiously at her. "Is Hammel faring better these days?"

Gúthwyn nodded. "He has won the respect of his peers, and they no longer taunt him as they were once wont to. Cobryn says that he is even trying harder than usual, although I do not think he will pursue a career in my brother's army."

"I am glad to hear that he is doing well," Legolas said sincerely. "And what of Haiweth? I have not seen much of her this visit."

"Haiweth is doing fine," Gúthwyn assured him, choosing not to recount the argument she had had with Éowyn. She also neglected to mention that lately Haiweth had been hinting that life in Edoras was boring. It did not matter, for the child was never going to be Queen Arwen's servant.

"Is she—"

"Ran-in!" Elfwine shrieked excitedly, cutting Legolas off. Éomund's daughter and Thranduil's son turned to see Raniean approaching, the tiniest wrinkle in his nose suggesting that he was repulsed by the very smell of humans. Gúthwyn had to remind herself not to glare.

Elfwine, meanwhile, tugged anxiously at her hand. "Maybe Ran-in like me if I be more nice!" he said, beaming as if he had just found the solution to all of Middle-earth's problems.

"Little one…" Gúthwyn began with a sigh.

"My apologies for Raniean's behavior," Legolas muttered, looking embarrassed. "He does not appreciate my frequent stops here."

"Why does he come, then?" Gúthwyn could not resist the temptation to ask.

Legolas hesitated. "He enjoys visiting my father," he finally said. "The two of them get along well; my father considers him like another son."

Given all that she had heard about Thranduil, for whom "strict" was a description that seemed to barely suffice, Gúthwyn was not surprised in the least.

"Ran-in!" she heard then, the familiar voice of her nephew now far away.

Gúthwyn's head snapped downwards, whereupon she realized that Elfwine was no longer at her side. Legolas came to the conclusion at the same instant as she. The two of them swiveled around, each searching for the heir. Gúthwyn's heart pounded rapidly in her chest, and for a moment she thought she would faint in terror.

"Ran-in, why don't you talk to me?"

"Oh, no," Gúthwyn whispered in dread, her gaze shifting over to where Raniean was standing, stock-still, and glaring down at something on the ground before him.

"I want to be your friend!" Elfwine said, undaunted by the foul expression on Raniean's face. He had planted himself right in front of the Elf and was staring up at him in utter awe.

"Elfwine!" Gúthwyn yelled in horror, running over to rescue her nephew from any harm that might befall him.

Before she could get there, however, things went from bad to worse. Muttering something incomprehensible, Raniean turned his back on the child and started walking away. Elfwine cried out in alarm and tottered after him, lunging forward and clutching at the Elf's leg. "Please, Ran-in?" he begged.

Raniean whirled around with a growl and yanked his foot away, the motion so sudden that Elfwine lost his hold and fell to the ground. The unexpected jolt made the young prince's bottom lip tremble; when Raniean snarled angrily at him in Elvish, he began wailing.

"How dare you?" Gúthwyn shrieked at Raniean when she arrived a second later, her rage making her forget that she was speaking to an Elf. Frantically she scooped her nephew into her arms, checking his head for any lumps or bruises. "You could have hurt him!" she added furiously to Raniean.

Elfwine continued to bawl, burying his face in Gúthwyn's shoulder. Raniean shot the two of them a disgusted look, one that would have frozen her in place had he not been the cause of Elfwine's misery. When the Elf turned away to leave, her body swelled with indignant anger and she darted in front of him, effectively blocking his path.

"Next time a child clings to you," she spat, ignoring the murderous expression that greeted her, "do not shake them away as if they are nothing but a filthy dog! Elfwine could have injured his head, broken a bone, or been trampled on by passerby…" She trailed off, fuming, as Raniean continued to raise an irritated eyebrow at her. "You cannot understand a word I am saying, can you," she finally snapped.

"Raniean," Legolas spoke then, coming up behind his friend.

Raniean turned around and let loose a string of rapid, obviously enraged Elvish. A fresh stream of tears began running down Elfwine's face—the child was clearly distressed by Raniean's foul mood. Legolas glanced at the toddler before he replied, quietly yet firmly, to his friend's tirade. Gúthwyn watched the exchange apprehensively, not liking the fact that she did not know what was being said.

"Hush, little one," she whispered while she waited for them to finish. "You are safe, I promise."

Elfwine lifted his red face. In a small, miserable voice, he whimpered, "I just try to be Ran-in's friend… he hates me, Auntie Gúthy!" He began to sob again.

Gúthwyn glared at the back of Raniean's head as she murmured soothingly to her nephew, loathing the proud Elf and the way he had treated her brother's son. She knew that there were some who did not enjoy the company of toddlers—and she did not understand why, but to each their own—yet to take one's frustration out on an innocent child was another thing entirely.

Legolas and Raniean's terse conversation continued only for another moment before Raniean stalked away, his back rigid and his features utterly unapologetic.

"I am so sorry," Legolas said, a pained look on his face. "Is Elfwine hurt?"

"Just upset," Gúthwyn assured him, gently kissing the top of her nephew's head.

Elfwine looked dolefully at Legolas, tears still leaking from his eyes. "Leggy, what I do wrong?" he asked, hiccupping as he did so.

Legolas visibly struggled to form an answer. "Nothing," he said at length. "Raniean is…" He trailed off with a sigh.

Gúthwyn decided to help him out. "It is as I told you, little one," she spoke quietly. "Raniean does not like humans."

Legolas winced, momentarily averting his gaze; Gúthwyn realized just how mortifying it was for him to deal with the repercussions of his friend's behavior. "I must beg your pardon on his behalf," the Elf said remorsefully. "Past experiences with humans have not left him with a good impression of your race, but that is no excuse for what he did to Elfwine."

_No, it is not_, Gúthwyn was tempted to reply coldly, but something in Legolas's expression stopped her. Instead, she looked down at her nephew. Elfwine's tears had regressed into sniffles, and he now pleaded, "Leggy, you make Ran-in be friends with me?"

Legolas clearly did not have the heart to refuse. "I will see what I can do," he promised.

"Dank you!" Elfwine said happily, appearing pleased that he had remembered his manners without Gúthwyn's help.

"You are most welcome," Legolas replied, smiling at the child. The gesture did not quite reach his eyes.

"Someday I be friends with Ran-in," Elfwine predicted, his initial disappointment swiftly ebbing away. "He not ready now, but someday he is."

Legolas and Gúthwyn exchanged glances with each other. Neither wanted to tell the confident toddler just how unlikely it was that that day would ever occur.

* * *

><p>Gúthwyn's sleeping schedule, for the most part, now resembled that of a normal person's. Yet ever and anon, if something was bothering her, she found that she was awoken by a nightmare—either that, or could simply not drift off in the first place. It was the latter that was now keeping her up, regardless of how many times she tried to adjust her position so that she was more comfortable.<p>

She was not entirely sure what was the source of her disquiet, for she could think of nothing that she had experienced recently that was out of the ordinary, nor did she believe that she was being troubled by recollections of Mordor again. For some reason, however, she was unable to sleep, and at length she gave up the attempt.

Sighing, she pulled the covers back and swung her feet over the edge of the mattress. Grimacing a little when her toes hit the cool floor, she nevertheless persevered until she was standing. Then she donned a pair of slippers, drew a thick robe around her thin nightgown, and went outside.

She was not surprised to see Legolas there, watching the stars as usual. Unlike Éomund's daughter, who always sat frigidly upon the cold stone steps with her shoulders hunched over as far as they could go, Legolas stood with perfect posture. He had clasped his hands behind his back, but the instant Gúthwyn pushed the door open he let them fall to his sides and turned around. "Good evening," he said, not at all taken aback by her sudden appearance.

Gúthwyn returned the greeting, advancing a few feet as she did so. "Have you been out here long?" she asked.

Legolas shook his head. "An hour or two, perhaps."

Éomund's daughter nodded and looked up at the bright stars—jewels, she thought, appreciating them all the more for the years she had spent without them.

Her attention was drawn back to Middle-earth by the sight of Legolas shifting uncomfortably on his feet. "Thank you for not telling Éomer about this afternoon, though you had every reason to." When Éomer had retrieved Elfwine from Gúthwyn and asked about their stroll, neither the nephew nor the aunt had given the slightest indication that it was anything other than perfect.

Gúthwyn shrugged. "I know he would have been embarrassed that Elfwine was pestering Raniean, and I also know that Raniean did not truly intend to hurt my nephew—regardless of how furious I am with him for doing so."

"I assure you, it will not be an issue again," Legolas vowed, his features momentarily darkening. "I have spoken to Raniean and ensured his cooperation on the matter."

Gúthwyn was relieved to hear this. "Thank you," she said. "I, in turn, shall try to discourage my nephew from approaching your friend, although I doubt he will desist in his attempts to befriend him."

Legolas waved her concerns away. "What happened today was not Elfwine's fault," he replied, yet stopped short of placing the blame on Raniean. Gúthwyn remembered his words about the Elf's supposed experiences with humans, but inwardly she wondered: what dealings could Raniean possibly have had with mortals, beyond those he was forced to engage with on Legolas's account?

The conversation momentarily floundered in awkward silence until Legolas looked at her and asked, "What has kept you up tonight?"

Gúthwyn shrugged. "I cannot sleep, though I am unsure as to why."

"I am sorry to hear that," Legolas replied sincerely, his brow knitting in concern.

"If only humans did not need as much rest as we do," Gúthwyn responded. As an afterthought, she added, "The land of dreams is not always a pleasant one."

Legolas's frown deepened. "Did you have a nightmare?" he questioned worriedly.

Shaking her head, Gúthwyn answered, "Thankfully, no. Although, as I told you, Elfwine had one last night." She did not envy her nephew. Knowing fully well what it was like to awaken in a cold sweat, trembling in the aftermath of horrifying visions and sensations, she prayed that such an experience would be a rare occurrence for the poor child.

"What about?" Legolas inquired when she did not elaborate.

"He thought I had gone away," Gúthwyn explained, smiling sadly. "He came to my room in the middle of the night and asked if he could stay with me. I felt awful for him."

"He seemed to have recovered when I saw you with him today," Legolas pointed out kindly.

"I doubt he remembers the dream," Gúthwyn agreed, "and I am glad for it."

At that moment, she thought she heard an angry wail arise from within Meduseld. Starting, she asked Legolas, "Did you hear that?"

Legolas nodded, cocking his head towards the door as he listened. "Yet now there is silence."

"I should go in," Gúthwyn decided, fear rising within her. "One of the children might be—" Her face paled as she thought of all the different ways one could finish that sentence, and she went immediately towards the door.

Before she could take a single step, however, Legolas tensed and put a staying hand on her arm. Gúthwyn came to an abrupt halt, startled—for even though she was wearing a winter robe, she could still feel every one of his fingers upon her as if she were clad in nothing at all.

"There are footsteps," the Elf announced quietly, drawing closer to her… as if he might protect her? "They are coming outside."

An instant later, the entrance to Meduseld opened. Gúthwyn barely had time to wonder who could be up at this hour—aside from herself, of course—before Éomer and Lothíriel's figures emerged from the shadows within the hall. A clearly terrified Elfwine was clutching at the king's neck.

"Éomer?" Gúthwyn asked, bewildered.

"Sister?" Éomer questioned at almost the exact same instant. His eyes darted to her arm, which Gúthwyn belatedly realized Legolas was still holding. Lothíriel's piercing gaze sought to burn holes through her, and she flushed as she moved away from the Elf. There was fortunately not enough light for anyone to see her cheeks turn red, but Éomer's voice was nevertheless suspicious as he inquired, "What are you doing out here?"

Elfwine lifted his head. "_Auntie Gúthy_!" he yelled through a sudden wave of tears. He squirmed away from Éomer, stretching his arms out to Éomund's daughter.

"He had a nightmare," Éomer informed Gúthwyn, at last removing his dark eyes from Legolas. "He wants to see you."

"_Gúthy_!" Elfwine sobbed, his face nearly purple.

"Here, I can take him," Gúthwyn offered quickly, hating the sight of her nephew in such distress.

Looking rather relieved, Éomer handed his son over. Elfwine immediately grabbed at Gúthwyn, crying hysterically. "You went away again!" he whimpered, closing a tiny fist around several strands of her hair. "You said you wouldn't! Why you do that, Auntie Gúthy? Why you leave me?"

"Little one, it was just a dream," Gúthwyn assured him, gently rocking his small frame. "It was not real, I promise. See? I am right here with you."

"B-But you weren't in your room, where Papa said you were! You g-_gone_!" Elfwine protested.

"I have been outside with Legolas," Gúthwyn told him, knowing that the mention of "Leggy" would cheer him up.

Sure enough, Elfwine's tears turned into sniffles. "Leggy?" he repeated, lifting his head so that he could gaze over Gúthwyn's shoulder. "Leggy here?"

Éomer took advantage of Elfwine's sudden quiet to fix Gúthwyn with a sharp look. "What _are_ you doing here, sister?" he asked as Legolas smiled at Elfwine.

Gúthwyn shrugged, stroking her nephew's soft hair. "I could not sleep," she offered.

Lothíriel's eyebrow arched in skepticism. Not noticing his wife's demeanor, Éomer leaned closer. "Did you, also, have a nightmare?" he inquired, lowering his voice and apparently forgetting the fact that Legolas could hear him anyway.

Gúthwyn shook her head.

"_I_ have nightmare," Elfwine reminded his father, his eyes welling up with tears again.

"Hush, little one, you are safe now," Gúthwyn murmured, holding him close to her chest.

The four adults stood there quietly for a moment, Gúthwyn whispering soothing words into Elfwine's ear in an attempt to calm the child down. When her efforts at last displayed signs of success, and Elfwine looked to be drifting off to sleep, Éomer cleared his throat. "Let us retire," he suggested, indicating himself and Lothíriel. "You should as well, sister."

Gúthwyn inclined her head, looking down at her nephew. Elfwine was nodding off, his body limp in her arms; he was still awake, but not for long. "Gúthy," he mumbled, talking into the folds of her robe.

"I can bring him back to our room," Lothíriel volunteered, stepping forward and shooting Gúthwyn an unmistakable warning with her eyes: _hand over Elfwine_. Inwardly appalled that the toddler's nightmare had become a power struggle, Éomund's daughter nevertheless obliged and carefully placed her nephew in his mother's arms.

The change of caretaker did not go unnoticed. Elfwine stirred blearily as he was moved; when he opened his eyes and saw that he was with someone else, he began fussing. "You're not Auntie Gúthy," he said accusingly, looking indignantly up at the queen. "Where Auntie Gúthy go?"

"Your aunt is right here," Lothíriel replied, turning Elfwine around so that he could see Gúthwyn.

Éomund's daughter waved cheerfully.

Elfwine craned his neck up at Lothíriel. "I want Auntie Gúthy, please," he announced. "Auntie Gúthy hold me."

Gúthwyn flushed, imagining the murderous thoughts that were certainly crossing through Lothíriel's mind. She could not help but empathize with the queen, knowing all too well what it was like to be spurned by a child. Hammel still had yet to maintain with her a conversation more in-depth than the how-was-your-day niceties.

"Perhaps it would be best for Gúthwyn to put him to bed," Éomer decided quickly: Elfwine was wriggling in Lothíriel's arms and showing harbingers of an oncoming temper tantrum.

"Elfwine should not have to rely upon your sister to get him to sleep at night," Lothíriel responded calmly, although it was clear—to Gúthwyn, at least—that she was inwardly furious. Legolas meandered a few feet away and gazed up at the stars, pretending not to hear the family's debate. "He needs to learn to do so on his own."

"Need Auntie Gúthy," Elfwine begged his father. "Auntie Gúthy go away in my nightmare. Need her back."

"No harm will come of it," Éomer assured Lothíriel.

The queen smiled graciously. Thinly. "As you wish, my lord," she said politely, holding her son out to her rival.

The matter being settled, Gúthwyn, Elfwine, Éomer, and Lothíriel bid farewell to Legolas, who informed them that he would be remaining outside to look at the stars. Elfwine waved forlornly at the prince as the doors closed behind them, later wondering aloud if 'Leggy' ever had nightmares.

After Éomund's daughter coaxed her nephew to sleep—which took a surprisingly short amount of time, given the situation—Éomer drew her aside and asked to speak with her alone.

Somewhat confused, Gúthwyn granted his request. "Yes, brother?" she inquired when they had relocated to the empty corridor.

Never one for subtlety, Éomer spoke bluntly. "I saw Legolas's hand on your arm, sister," he told her, watching her to see her reaction.

Gúthwyn tried not to blush, but failed horribly. "It was nothing," she said, hoping she did not sound guilty—which she was not, she reminded herself. "We both heard Elfwine yelling from inside, and at first we did not know who it was…"

Éomer waited patiently for her to continue; his expression turned skeptical when she did not.

"What?" Gúthwyn asked, confused.

"Sister, you do realize what that looked like—"

_Smack._

The king stopped short as Éomund's daughter slapped him across the face, her every muscle rigid in fury. "Never say that again," she hissed, recoiling as if she had just witnessed a particularly brutal slaying on a battlefield. "Just stop it! If I were to have such feelings for someone, I would express them openly and not sneak around with them in the dead of night! And as if I would ever—with an Elf—how dare you? Does the name 'Haldor' mean nothing to you?"

"Gúthwyn, you are overreacting," Éomer told her sternly, his voice warning her to calm down. Unconsciously, he rubbed his pink cheek. "I am merely saying that had someone else found you in that position, their suspicions would be aroused."

"Then be glad that it was you who stumbled upon us," Gúthwyn snapped, enraged at him for even mentioning Legolas in the first place. She had the sudden urge to scream, but barely managed to restrain herself. "Now, if you will excuse me, I am going to bed. Unless you would like to interrogate me further, that is."

She shot such a glare at him that he said merely, "Goodnight, sister."

"Goodnight, _brother_," Gúthwyn replied icily. Without another word she turned on her heel and strode away, a thousand emotions churning wildly within her. Fury, humiliation, terror—what gave Éomer the right to stir up such memories? How dare he imply such things? She should never have let Legolas come near her.

As she walked quicker to outpace the ghosts of her pasts, she ignored the voice in her mind that pointed out how soft Legolas's touch had been.


	22. Letters From Dol Amroth

**Chapter Twenty-Two**

_Éowyn,_

_I thank you kindly for your offer, and I promise I will consider it. However, I do not think I can bring myself to visit Ithilien soon, for winter is upon us and it would be too cold for such a journey. Furthermore, Éomer relies on me to take care of Elfwine while he and Lothíriel are in meetings, and I would not leave poor Bregwyn all alone with our most rambunctious nephew. I beg your pardon, and I do wish that I could see you—it has been two years too long!—but a visit is simply not possible at this time._

_Meanwhile, I pray that you are well. Hammel and Haiweth, of course, are fine. Hammel continues to court Aldeth, but he does it in so subtle a fashion that I doubt she can detect his feelings, even if she is looking for signs of them. Haiweth, mercifully, does not have a care for such matters, but as she is now thirteen and quite a beautiful girl (which I have on assurance of Elfwine's friends' mothers, not merely my own bias), I have observed several of her male acquaintances casting a more wondrous eye upon her. Their attention makes me worry, and I have resolved to impress upon her that, should their actions mirror what I hope are not their thoughts, she must call for help immediately._

_Per your inquiry, I have of course been eating. Éomer says he fears that I will never be anything but underweight, which is somewhat disheartening, yet he cannot dispute the fact that I am now consuming two full meals a day, sometimes even three. (I am not always able to stomach breakfast, for I have gone so long without it and ever it seems dreadfully early for such consumption, but I try.) He praises me for this progress. I do not think I will ever enjoy food, and indeed I might have no inclination to eat were lunch and dinner not a routine for which I must be present, but I have not missed either of those meals for over a year._

_In answer to your other question—yes, Legolas and I do spend great amounts of time together, and I daresay we enjoy each other's company (although perhaps he only tolerates mine). It is entirely innocent, and I wish you would not suggest otherwise, as I believe you are. Quite frankly, sister, your implications nauseate me. I must reiterate that I have no desire to take a husband, regardless of what Éomer has told you. I beg you to remember Haldor, to know that I flinch when I but write his name. Please, let it be. Éomer has given me his word that he will not pressure me into marriage. Can you not do the same?_

Gúthwyn dipped her quill into the inkbottle at her desk, sighing as she did so. She and Éowyn had tentatively renewed their correspondence not even a year ago, and already the White Lady was hinting at marriage. Gúthwyn had never missed this part of her relationship with her sister, and only a couple of letters after its inception she was tired of it. She had just turned twenty-seven a few months ago; she did not need to be nagged as if she were a child.

_Honestly,_ she grumbled to herself. _Why do I need to wed someone to be happy?_ She had once been betrothed to Elphir, a prince in all senses of the word. But even though Elphir had been a caring man, genuinely interested in ensuring her comfort (she ignored the thought of what he had become), she had been miserable at the prospect of becoming his wife and she knew she would have only been marginally content with him. Not once had she regretted the termination of their marriage negotiations.

What she did regret, however, was the fact that Elphir no longer spoke to her. She missed receiving his letters and reading about Alphros's latest exploits, then eagerly composing a reply of her own. It stung her that Elphir had tossed their friendship aside so easily, refusing to give her the chance to defend herself against his allegations.

She doubted she would ever find out why he had suddenly started believing the rumors that had always circulated about her purity, her conduct with other men. She tried not to think of it, for it saddened her that a man she had once esteemed so highly had turned out to be no better than his wretched subjects. Yet once in awhile she would find herself wondering what had happened, why he had ignored their correspondence for a year and then turned on her.

All of a sudden, there was a knock at her door. "Yes?" Éomund's daughter called, setting aside her unfinished letter to Éowyn.

Mildwen tentatively poked her head inside the room. "M-My lady?" she asked, her face taut with anxiety.

"Mildwen, what is wrong?" Gúthwyn asked the maid concernedly, motioning for her to come in. "Are you feeling well?"

Mildwen nodded, but her expression betrayed her. Slipping into Gúthwyn's quarters, she shut the door behind her after glancing furtively out into the hall. "My lady," she whispered breathlessly, hurrying over to Éomund's daughter, "there is something you must see." As Gúthwyn looked on in bewilderment, the maid withdrew an envelope from the folds of her dress.

Even from this distance, the seal of Dol Amroth was easily recognizable. _Speak of the devil,_ Gúthwyn thought wryly. However, the name written upon the parchment was too small for her to discern, so she glanced up at Mildwen and knitted her brow. "What is it?" she asked, confused. Had she, her brother, or Lothíriel misplaced one of Imrahil's letters?

"My lady," Mildwen began, her voice hushed, "I was cleaning the queen's room—it is not usually my duty, but Nethiel is sick and none of the others wanted the extra work, so they made me do it. I do not mind, of course," she added, seeing the shocked look on Gúthwyn's face. "But I do not know my way around her chambers, and while I was searching for the right drawer to put her linens in, I found this."

She handed the envelope to Gúthwyn. Éomund's daughter took it, her eyes widening when she realized that the name upon it was her own. Then she drew in a sharp breath: she recognized that script, having once been betrothed to its owner. It was Elphir's.

"By the Valar," she gasped, the pieces of the puzzle falling into place with a sickening _click_.

"My lady, there were at least a dozen," Mildwen informed her grimly.

"A dozen?" Gúthwyn repeated in disbelief. _Lothíriel stopped my letters_, she thought wildly. _She actually stopped my letters._

"I-Is it Elphir's handwriting?" Mildwen asked tentatively.

Gúthwyn nodded slowly, a disgusted lump in her throat. With trembling fingers she opened the envelope, noting the date as she unfolded the parchment. It was from a month before he had broken off their negotiations.

_My lady Gúthwyn,_

_This is the last letter I shall ever write to you. I have heard nothing from you in months, leaving me no choice but to assume that you will not deny the accusations I have so desperately begged you to condemn. Words cannot express my disappointment; suffice to say, you are not the woman I once thought you more. It pains me more than you could ever imagine to acknowledge this._

Gúthwyn lowered the parchment, unable to continue reading for the sudden rush of hatred that blurred her vision until she saw only red. She could barely speak. When at last she managed to do so, her words were trembling in fury. "Mildwen," she addressed her maid, the hand holding the letter shaking so violently that the letter nearly fell out of her grasp.

"Yes, my lady?" Mildwen asked, her white cheeks a stark contrast to the splotches of crimson upon Gúthwyn's.

"You said there were a dozen of these?" Gúthwyn inquired slowly.

"Y-Yes, I did," Mildwen stuttered.

"Will you bring them to me?" Gúthwyn's voice was so quiet that the other woman had to lean closer to hear.

"O-Of course I will," Mildwen replied, though her gaze was troubled. With a small, wobbling curtsy, she began edging her way out of the room.

"Thank you," Gúthwyn called after her, slumping back in her chair as if she were exhausted—and it was only midday. Her mind was afire. Lothíriel had deliberately prevented Gúthwyn from receiving Elphir's letters. From the sound of it, she had also succeeded in stopping the prince from getting her rival's. All of the times Éomund's daughter had asked the queen if she had heard aught from her brother, Lothíriel had lied as smoothly and as easily as if the letters were not in her very possession.

She could scarcely grasp the fact that Lothíriel had so daringly connived against her own husband, father, and brother to prevent the marriage, that the queen's hatred had spread to such an extent that Gúthwyn had lost a friend and a confidante. She gaped at the letter in her hands, unable to even read the rest of it. All along, Elphir had been writing to her—and what was more, wondering why she was not replying! What he must have thought of her… if he had asked her to answer to the rumors, and she had not sent word back, of course he would have assumed the worst!

_When Mildwen brings me the other letters,_ she told herself, taking deep, calming breaths—they were not working—_I will know for sure what happened._

Ten minutes went by, however, and Mildwen still had not returned. Impatient and bewildered, Gúthwyn decided to find out for herself what was delaying the maid. Going out into the great hall, she glanced around to see if Mildwen had been drawn into a conversation with another servant. Yet the only people nearby were Elfwine and Bregwyn, the former of which was enthusiastically devouring a stack of toast while his nurse looked tiredly on.

Praying that her nephew would not turn around and mark her appearance, Gúthwyn stealthily crept across the throne room. Luckily, Éomer was in council with his advisors, and unless he stepped outside for a breather she would not need to worry about him catching her.

Then Éomund's daughter frowned—was that Mildwen's voice?

"M-M-My l-lady, I-I can ex-explain!"

Gúthwyn immediately rounded the corner. She had come not a moment too soon: Mildwen was backed against the wall, quivering in fear beneath Lothíriel's furious stare. The queen was gripping the servant's arm. Even from a distance, Gúthwyn could see that Lothíriel's nails had drawn blood.

"How dare you sneak into my chambers and steal my things, you wretch!" Lothíriel spat, twisting Mildwen's limb. She attempted to grab the letters in Mildwen's other hand, but with a muffled cry the maid held them out of reach. "Give me those!" Lothíriel ordered. "You have no right to be touching my possessions. Consider yourself banned from the Golden Hall for the rest of your miserable life!"

Mildwen gasped, visibly blanching. Her distraction provided Lothíriel with the chance to snatch the bundle of envelopes. The sight of Elphir's letters in her rival's pale clutch propelled Gúthwyn to action.

"Excuse me," she said coldly, emerging from the shadows. Lothíriel jumped, and Mildwen gasped in relief; as both women turned to face her, Gúthwyn strode forward and glared pointedly at the queen. "You will not fire Mildwen," she told her brother's wife, "who has done nothing wrong in retrieving, upon my request, various letters addressed to me that seem to have misplaced themselves in your quarters."

Lothíriel did not even bother to hide the envelopes; they both knew that the attempt would be useless. Gúthwyn leaned over and yanked the letter's out of the queen's grasp, noting in horrified amazement how many there were. All of them had been opened. "Thank you," she said icily, managing to recover her composure. "If I were you, _your highness_, I would not advise complaining to Éomer about Mildwen's service. I for one find it exceptional."

"You would have disgraced my brother," Lothíriel hissed, stepping forward.

Gúthwyn held her ground. "Elphir has done nothing to deserve a sister who puts her own petty rivalries before his happiness, and you should be ashamed of yourself for doing so. I do not know how you can sleep at night." With that, she turned her back on the queen. "Come, Mildwen," she said, though not unkindly. "Your work is done here—it will not go unrewarded."

Mildwen meekly edged away from Lothíriel, her face flushed and mortified. Gúthwyn motioned for her to go ahead, feeling that it would be best to act as a buffer between the queen and the maid. Thankfully, her brother's wife let them go without incident, and the two of them escaped to the throne room unscathed. The one time Gúthwyn looked back, she saw the door to Lothíriel's chambers slamming shut.

Mildwen waited until they had returned to Gúthwyn's room to speak. "Thank you so much, my lady," she breathed, still trembling. "She walked in and saw me right as I was about to leave… I-I tried to hide the letters, but I was not quick enough…"

"Do not worry," Gúthwyn said firmly. "If Lothíriel seeks to punish you for this, she shall have me to answer to."

Mildwen was silent, yet she could not mask the doubt that lingered in her gaze. Gúthwyn herself had misgivings about whether she could hold off the queen, especially if she were bent on revenge, but she would not voice them here. Instead, she thanked Mildwen fervently and then requested some privacy: she feared that, upon reading Elphir's letters, her emotions would be too overwhelming to conceal. Mildwen retreated somewhat reluctantly, leaving Éomund's daughter alone to uncover the truth behind why her former betrothed was no longer speaking to her.

Bracing herself for the worst, Gúthwyn opened the first letter, one that had clearly been written soon after she had agreed to marry him.

_My lady Gúthwyn,_

_It pleases me greatly that the negotiations between your brother and my father are going smoothly. Éomer is most gracious, and indeed seems to only want your happiness. You are very fortunate to have a sibling who cares so much for you. But while Éomer is certainly concerned for your well-being, he has hinted that you are not much partaking in these discussions. I know you are not fond of politics, so rest assured that this does not perturb me in the slightest. Yet is there anything that my father and I can do for you ahead of time, so that when you arrive in Dol Amroth things will be to your liking? You need only to express your desires for them to be my command._

_In other news, Alphros is…_

The letter degenerated into their usual discussions of children, training, and various goings-on in Edoras and Dol Amroth. Impatient, Gúthwyn put it down on her desk and turned to the next one.

_My lady Gúthwyn,_

_I hope everything is all right with you, for I have not heard from you in well over a month. It is not my intent, of course, to make you feel pressured into writing prompt responses, for your days are quite busy and I do not wish to add further stress. I simply have missed hearing from you and I pray that nothing malignant is keeping you from responding._

_As I told you in my last letter, Alphros accidentally set fire to his tutor's desk…_

Such was Gúthwyn's distress that she barely even raised her eyebrows at this latest report of Alphros's never-ending string of mishaps. Frantically, she reached for the next letter.

_My lady Gúthwyn,_

_I am quite curious as to why I have heard naught but silence from you lately. My father reports that nothing is amiss in his negotiations with Éomer, although I confess I have not mentioned our lack of correspondence—I know he would seek to interrogate me further. I pray that everything is all right with you, and implore you to alert me immediately if you feel even the slightest bit of dissatisfaction with any aspect of our imminent marriage._

_In the meantime, I must ask you something. I beg you not to think less of me for inquiring, for there is simply no way I can put it without coming across as suspicious. However, lately there have been a slew of rumors circulating throughout Dol Amroth about your behavior with Cobryn. At first I scoffed at these murmurings, but a recent remark of Lothíriel's—innocent in passing though it was—has made me wonder._

_Before I go on, rest assured that Lothíriel is by no means opposed to our marriage. In her letters she frequently expresses her happiness with the arrangements, and she has only the highest praises for you. Yet one of her comments did make me pause: "In truth, I have not had much opportunity to discuss the betrothal with Gúthwyn, for she is often shut inside her room with Cobryn for hours at a time. I am never quite sure what it is they are doing, but I expect that he could give you a much better answer than I!"_

_It is not my intent to offend you at all by asking you to explain why he is seeing you in your chambers so often. I am fully aware that the two of you are very close friends, and I do not doubt that you will think my concern is as ludicrous as I hope it is. However, given the fact that I have not heard from you in a rather long time, I cannot help but fear the worst. I am terribly sorry if you are reading this and the mere implication horrifies you—yet I beg you to put my worries to rest._

_On a lighter note, Amrothos fell asleep in council for the third time this week. Father is simply furious…_

Gúthwyn could not put the parchment down and pick up the next one fast enough. As she read on, Elphir's letters became increasingly troubled, until they were devoted solely to pleading with her to write back. _It is a constant, never-ending torture,_ he said in one a few months before he had ended their negotiations, _to not know what it is I might have done that would make you so unwilling to correspond with me. I am begging you to, at the very least, tell me how it is I have wronged you._

In addition to Elphir's perplexity, another sinister thread gradually wove its way into his letters: her infidelity. After he first asked about her friendship with Cobryn, the matter was left alone for a few months. Eventually, though, it was picked up again. His inquiries were polite, and the idea of questioning her virtue was clearly painful to him; Gúthwyn found a lump in her throat growing as he again and again requested that she deny the rumors that were now running rampant through Dol Amroth, so that he could defend her as zealously as he would like to. _I have always refused to listen to the lies perpetuated by certain members of my father's court,_ he assured her, _but to hear your responses to these allegations would assuage my own misgivings._

Finally, she came to the second-to-last letter.

_My lady Gúthwyn,_

_I have recently come across something most disturbing that must be brought to your attention immediately. You have not written to me in months; yet if you reply to but one of my letters, I beg that you choose this one. Yesterday I was in Amrothos's study, for we had arranged to go hunting and he requested that I meet him there. He was tardy, as usual, and while I was waiting I happened to notice a letter on his desk. It was from Lothíriel, and since lately her correspondence has been infuriatingly vague about how you are doing, I must confess that I began to read it. I wish I never had._

_I will copy the letter in its entirety here, so that you will know exactly what my sister told him about you._

"Dear Amrothos,

"Although you reminded me in your last letter that full disclosure of Gúthwyn's deeds would only be best for Elphir, I thought long and hard before at last sitting down to write this. The news will be a dreadful blow to our dear brother. I beg of you to bring the matter to his attention most gently, and indeed to allow him to provide my husband's sister with every opportunity to tell her side of the story—for I pray there is a rational explanation for her behavior.

"But since you have asked, the following is all the information I have come across regarding Gúthwyn, whether accidentally or not. The first incident, perhaps the most disturbing, happened several months ago, yet has been at the foreground of my mind ever since.

"One winter evening I was dreadfully tired, and Gúthwyn offered to put Elfwine to bed for me. I fell asleep while she was doing so, but after a time I was awakened by the sound of my husband's voice. When I looked around the room, I saw that he and his sister were standing together at Elfwine's side, discussing something about marriage. At first, I thought it was their usual conversation—Gúthwyn was quite resistant to the idea of wedding another at the time, and whenever the matter was broached she would always become surly. Then, however, I heard something shocking. 'Any man I take as a spouse will know I have not been faithful to him,' she said. 'I am no maiden, thanks to…' She did not continue.

"I was appalled. What was more, Éomer did not appear surprised in the slightest—as if he already knew fully well that his sister was not a virgin, and was perfectly at ease with the fact! But that is not all, though I sorely wish it were. Not many days after, I awoke in the middle of the night to get a drink of water. While I was out in the throne room, I saw Gúthwyn and Cobryn talking by his sleeping pallet. Their faces were so close, I truly thought they were about to kiss.

"Then, to my astonishment, the two of them stood up. Without another word, they went to her chambers—and Cobryn never returned. I waited for a full half an hour, thinking that he was merely accompanying her to bed in case she was frightened of, perhaps, the dark, but my deed was in vain. Shocked, I alerted Éomer the very next morning, but Cobryn is clever and he was able to lie his way out of punishment by claiming that Gúthwyn had had a nightmare.

"After this, I must say that I kept a very close watch on my husband's sister. Unfortunately, in doing so I learned that this was not an isolated incident. I have since discovered that Gúthwyn admits Cobryn into her quarters without chaperone, oftentimes closing the door immediately after he arrives, several times a week. Furthermore, Cobryn is given the privilege of being able to walk into her room whenever he pleases, and indeed is frequently the one who rouses her in the morning.

"Yet it seems that Cobryn is not the only man to whom Gúthwyn has shown favor. She dances shamelessly with the soldiers in Éomer's army, her mannerisms flirtatiously inviting and her discourses with them even more so. It is not uncommon for one of the warriors to put an arm around her—as he might were he selecting a favorite whore to take to bed—nor is it a rare occurrence that he should intimately squeeze her shoulder.

"Finally, there is the matter of the children. I shall not discuss this overmuch, for doubtless you have already heard all of the speculation. Although Gúthwyn insists that the children are not hers, it is clear that she and Haiweth share a bond as close as any mother and daughter could have. Furthermore, Haiweth's age is such that she would have been born during Gúthwyn's disappearance from Rohan—more food for thought. Haiweth clings to Gúthwyn like any child would to a parent, and indeed I could swear that Gúthwyn has slipped a number of times and referred to Hammel and Haiweth as her offspring. But all of this is mere conjecture, and little more than an addendum to what I have already told you.

"I had prayed that once our father and Éomer started planning her marriage to our brother, Gúthwyn would be on her best behavior. But this has not proved to be the case: Cobryn is still granted free admittance into her chambers (if anything, she is spending more time with the advisor than ever before), and her interactions with the men are no less affectionate. I have searched long and hard for proof that my suspicions are unjustified, but though it grieves me to concede defeat I must say that I have found none.

"I have considered speaking to Éomer about this, yet I fear that he would be devastated by the revelation of his sister's character. He does not seem to realize that her dalliances with Cobryn are anything but innocent—either that, or he turns a blind eye to her indiscretions. Whatever the case may be, I am unwilling to bring this matter to his attention. Unfortunately, the same must not be true for Elphir.

"Regardless of how reluctant I am to inform our brother of Gúthwyn's imprudence, it is simply not fair to let him walk into a marriage unaware of what may lie in store. Elphir deserves only the best, and I cannot say that Gúthwyn fits this description. In addition to consorting with Cobryn and her brother's entire army, she herself has admitted that she is no longer a virgin—something that I find unforgivable. However, I feel that this information would be best communicated to our brother in person, which I am not at liberty to do.

"Amrothos, I know subtlety and tactfulness are not your strongest suits, but I beg you to be kind when telling this to Elphir. He will certainly be mortified, and I do not doubt that he will seek every opportunity to rebuff the overwhelming evidence. I sorely wish I could assist him in this endeavor, for it saddens me deeply to know that the woman he loves toys so carelessly with his feelings. Yet I have found nothing redeeming about Gúthwyn, my husband's sister though she is.

"On that heavy note, send our family my regards. I miss them dearly, especially our father.

"Love, Lothíriel."

_Gúthwyn, I am begging you to explain the meaning of this to me, to tell me something—anything—that can make my sister's words false. I know Lothíriel is not a liar, but I thought you were a woman I could trust. Please, for the sake of our betrothal, defend yourself against these allegations. I will believe almost any conceivable reason, for I want so desperately for this all to be naught but a horrible misunderstanding._

_I have nothing left to say. Words cannot describe my misery. I pray that you will break your silence and tell me what has been going during the past several months. Please, write to me. I am begging you._

_Sincerely, Elphir_

Gúthwyn's entire body was shaking in fury, so much that she had to put the letter down on her desk before she tore it up in rage. It was now obvious that Lothíriel had played an active role in sabotaging her marriage negotiations with Elphir, first by halting communications between them and then by lying to Amrothos in hopes that he would believe her and reiterate the information to their brother.

No wonder Amrothos had pursued her! After all that Lothíriel had told him, of course he would have thought that she was no better than one of his whores. Gúthwyn could not blame him, then—for though his actions had been disgusting, a horrible reminder of what she had endured at Haldor's hands, he had obviously had good reason to believe that his overtures would be returned.

It was Lothíriel, then. Gúthwyn's fingers curled into fists so tight that the skin on her palms tore as her nails broke the surface. Any sympathy she had once felt for the queen vanished in an instant. Because of her brother's wife, Éomund's daughter had lost the respect of someone she admired and had been hunted for weeks by a man who thought she would submit to him in bed. She had been alternately ignored and tormented by the Dol Amroth princes, she had been scorned and mocked by their subjects.

_What have I done to deserve this?_ Gúthwyn demanded silently. _How have I offended Lothíriel so greatly that she seeks to ruin me at any opportunity that comes her way? _She was not hurt; she was angry. Nay, furious. How dare Lothíriel interfere with her life to such an extent, working against Éomer to ensure her unhappiness? The queen surely could not believe that her rival was a whore, that her brother's reputation needed to be protected.

Éomund's daughter suddenly leaped to her feet, the decision coming to her as quickly as the ensuing action. She would confront the queen. She would find out, once and for all, why Lothíriel hated her. She would get to the bottom of the animosity between them, learn at last why her brother's wife had gone out of her way to destroy her standing in society.

Then, she would decide what to do about Elphir.


	23. Better Off a Coward

**Chapter Twenty-Three**

Gúthwyn left her chambers with a renewed sense of purpose, storming down the corridor and at last coming into the great hall. Elfwine and Bregwyn were long gone, their table now occupied by a cluster of advisors energetically discussing several charts laid out before them. Gúthwyn heard Cobryn's voice, until then louder than the others', falter; she knew he had seen her, but she stayed her course and did not look in his direction.

When she reached Lothíriel's quarters, the door was cracked open. Slowing down, lest she should burst in on the queen when Éomer was present, Gúthwyn tiptoed closer and peered through the slit. Only Lothíriel and Nethiel were there, the former writing a letter at her desk and the latter folding clothes nearby. Éomer was nowhere in sight. Relieved, Éomund's daughter was about to enter the room when she heard her name being spoken. Withdrawing, she leaned against the doorframe to listen.

"Gúthwyn had Mildwen, that sniveling sycophant, snoop through my drawers—and now she has them," Lothíriel was saying, a scowl on her features.

"Will she tell the king?" Nethiel wondered, carefully setting aside one of Lothíriel's many expensive dresses to later hang.

"I doubt she would want my husband to find out what has been happening all this time under his very roof, not when the truth would devastate him," Lothíriel replied confidently. She dipped her quill in the ink bottle at her side and scribbled furiously upon the parchment, in her haste leaving dark splotches on the desk.

"And Mildwen?" Nethiel wanted to know.

"Regrettably, Mildwen will not be employed here for much longer," Lothíriel answered with a sneer. "The girl is such a fool that it shall be fairly easy to implicate her in some petty crime or other."

Gúthwyn's mouth dropped open. Lothíriel was so desperate for revenge that she would take away another woman's livelihood, simply as the means to achieve an end?

"Do the letters reveal much, my lady?" Nethiel questioned.

"Thankfully, no," Lothíriel said. "They indicate naught of Amrothos's involvement, for Elphir of course suspected nothing. He did never questioned how strange it was that Amrothos should leave such an incriminating letter—the one I sent him about Gúthwyn's discrepancies, if you recall—lying about on his desk!"

_No,_ Gúthwyn thought, her eyes widening and a sinking sensation slowly settling in her stomach.

Nethiel sniffed. "But surely your husband's sister is not dimwitted enough to think that Amrothos was following her because he was interested in her?"

"Well, as you know, Gúthwyn is hardly the most educated of women," Lothíriel responded. "It was quite beyond her to realize that Amrothos's flirtations were simply to make Elphir hate her more than he already did."

Gúthwyn froze. Stunned, she recalled all the times that Amrothos had put his hand around her waist, had embarrassed her with his intimacy in front of the entire Dol Amroth court. She remembered his promises to help her win Elphir back, his various schemes—that horrible dress, her ill-fated entry into the tournament—which had always seemed to backfire. Now she understood why.

_How could I have been so stupid?_ she asked herself, horrified. In the aftermath of Amrothos's assault, she had come to the conclusion that her foolishness was due to not figuring out that the prince was pursuing her for himself; now she knew that her idiocy truly had no boundaries. Only an imbecile would have believed that a lusty man like Amrothos could be aroused by a flat-chested, diminutive woman like her. Éomund's daughter had always been glad that her lack of curves served as a deterrent to the male gender—how had she been duped so easily into thinking that this was not the case with Imrahil's youngest son?

"…very lucky that Elphir walked in on them when he did."

Nethiel's voice caused Gúthwyn to start, but when she recognized her former betrothed's name she leaned closer.

Lothíriel laughed, the sound chillingly unpleasant. "Luck had nothing to do with it," she scoffed. "I did not tell you this before, because I myself was not entirely certain how our designs would unfold, but Amrothos and I planned that encounter. We knew that Gúthwyn often went to the stables instead of having lunch, so all Amrothos had to do was take advantage of her solitude. While he was doing so, I convinced Elphir to accompany me on a picnic. I told him that we would go to the stables and ready our horses while some servants prepared our food."

Gúthwyn felt her cheeks turn pale. The terror she had experienced that day, the nightmare that she had been forced to relive—it had all been a game to Amrothos and Lothíriel, herself used as a pawn in this despicable form of entertainment.

"Fortunately, our timing was impeccable," Lothíriel continued. Dreading what she might hear next, Gúthwyn pressed her ear against the door again. "On the way to the stables, Elphir told me that he was going to speak to Gúthwyn and give her a chance to explain herself, for he was still in love with her and he did not want to believe the horrible things he had heard about her. Needless to say, once he walked inside and saw Amrothos's hand up her shirt, he was significantly less forgiving."

It was as if all the wind had been knocked out of Éomund's daughter. Elphir had been about to approach her, in spite of all that had happened? He had not been able to bring himself to trust entirely the whispers at court, nor the written word of his own sister? She had not thought that she could hate Lothíriel anymore, but now she was discovering otherwise. When she heard voices once more, it took all her strength to ignore the pounding in her ears and listen.

"What if you had delayed but a few minutes?" Nethiel was questioning her lady. "Would Elphir have seen something perhaps seen something even more incriminating?"

There was a pause. Gúthwyn found that she was holding her breath, waiting for Lothíriel's response.

"I told Amrothos to take things as far as he had to," the queen at length answered, her voice utterly devoid of emotion, "and I suppose we might have seen him rutting her in a haystack, had we but walked more slowly to the stables. I doubt she would have resisted, given her track record thus far."

Nethiel's tinkering laugh ricocheted off the walls as Éomund's daughter staggered backwards, unable to breathe for horror. She felt sick; she grabbed her stomach, doubling over. Lothíriel had given Amrothos full permission to possess her rival's body, had practically signed off on the other woman's _rape_. Gúthwyn's whole body shook, unable to barricade itself against the sudden onslaught of torturous memories. She stumbled in the direction of the throne room, needing to escape, and nearly lost her footing as she pictured Amrothos above her.

"No!" she choked out, clawing at the walls for support. But it was too late: Amrothos was inside her, his hands everywhere—irreverent, the rings on his fingers leaving circular bruises on her skin. _Whore_, he snarled, the alcohol practically dripping from his breath. She had to get away; straw was pricking her back and it was hurting and he was not stopping…

This was not true. Amrothos was not here, not violating her. Gúthwyn bit her lip to bring herself back to the present and tasted blood, but the coppery tang was not strong enough. Amrothos refused to go away, even when she clutched at her head and tried to literally shake him out of her mind.

_You look like a madwoman!_ she thought, struggling to break free from the chains that Lothíriel's revelation had cast upon her. She could not stand out here, not where anyone was able to see her; she had to retreat to her chambers. _Breathe,_ she told herself, _breathe…_

Swallowing and struggling to control herself, Gúthwyn tentatively crept out into the throne room. She did not dare to so much as glance in the direction of Cobryn and the advisors. Staring straight ahead, she folded her arms protectively across her chest and walked as quickly as possible towards her quarters, all the while afraid that she would lose it right then and there and vomit all over the floor. The urge to do so was overwhelming; she clamped her hand down on her mouth, trying to hold it in until she was alone.

When at last Éomund's daughter reached the sanctuary of her room, she barely made it to the chamber pot before her stomach turned over. She nearly choked as visions of Amrothos shrouded her mind, enveloping her in such a state of terror that she could not breathe. By the time she was done throwing up, her limbs were so weak that she could scarcely get to her feet.

She knew now that whatever she had done to Lothíriel, whatever offense she had committed to make the queen despise her, was not enough to deserve the punishment she had been given. Nothing could warrant the humiliation that Gúthwyn had been subjected to, the nature of the crime that she had almost been a victim of.

These shaky thoughts had not been formed much longer than a minute before the door opened. Gúthwyn jumped, half-expecting to see the queen—who would have somehow found out that Éomund's daughter had been eavesdropping on her conversation with Nethiel—but when she saw that it was Cobryn, she nearly collapsed in relief.

Her friend's shrewd gaze took in her disheveled hair, the full chamber pot. "What happened?" he asked quietly, stepping forward.

The words were barely out of his mouth before Gúthwyn had flung herself at him, all of the tears she had managed to hold back in the throne room now cascading forth onto his tunic. Although Cobryn asked her urgently what was wrong, at first she could not even speak. Instead, she sobbed hysterically.

"Gúthwyn, calm down," Cobryn ordered firmly, nevertheless holding her while she wept. "Take deep breaths. Speak."

She forgot how to inhale, and began babbling breathlessly as a result. "L-L-Lothíriel t-told Amrothos th-that he c-c-could do w-whatever he wanted to me in the s-s-stables!" she burst out, her voice cracking.

"She _what_?" Cobryn demanded as Gúthwyn dissolved into a fresh wave of tears.

Éomund's daughter stuttered and stammered her way through an explanation of the day's events, starting at Mildwen's discovery of Elphir's letters and finishing with the exchange she had heard between Lothíriel and Nethiel. By the time she stopped, she was nearly bawling.

"H-How _could_ she?" she gasped, crying into the fabric of Cobryn's shirt. It was already soaked. "H-H-He would have r-r-raped me i-in my own h-home!"

"Gúthwyn, you _must_ tell Éomer about this," Cobryn insisted, an urgent note in his voice that she had never heard before. "Lothíriel has shown that she will stop at nothing to destroy you—even when it involves allowing her lecherous brother to do what he will with your body. What next? When does it end?"

Gúthwyn shook her head frantically. "I-It would r-r-ruin his marriage!" she choked out. "I-I could n-n-never…"

"For the Valar's sake," Cobryn growled, gripping her so tightly by the arms that she cringed in pain, "when are you going to stop putting everyone else's well-being in front of your own? Lothíriel just confessed to giving Amrothos free reign to essentially rape you—and you want to protect your brother's _feelings_ by hiding his wife's behavior from him? What is wrong with you?"

Gúthwyn flinched. "I cannot, Cobryn," she whispered, at last able to speak without stumbling. "I would never forgive myself, knowing that I had brought an end to Éomer's happiness. Especially when he has been so kind to me, allowing myself and the children to reside here…"

"A grace that does not have to be repaid by your silent suffering!" Cobryn exploded. "I swear, Gúthwyn, if I had any confidence that the king would listen, I would speak to him myself! Éomer will believe you—tell him!"

"No!" Gúthwyn retorted, appalled at the very idea. "What Lothíriel did was… was horrible"—she swallowed hard—"but nothing ever came of it. Amrothos did not…"

Cobryn pulled back, staring at her in amazement. "Can you not hear yourself?" he asked in disbelief. Gúthwyn was stung by the disgust lining his features. "Do you have any idea what you sound like? Would you tolerate Lothíriel's behavior if she were treating Hammel or Haiweth in such a manner?"

"No," Gúthwyn said immediately, firmly.

"Then why is it acceptable for her to do this to you?" Cobryn demanded.

"Because the alternative is making my brother hate the woman he loves!" Gúthwyn exclaimed, wiping the tears from her eyes. "Elfwine should not have to grow up in a home like that!"

"Gúthwyn, you would have been raped if Lothíriel and Elphir had taken any longer to get into the stables," Cobryn said incredulously. "Éomer needs to know this, regardless of the strain it will put on his marital life!"

Gúthwyn was already shaking her head. "I will not," she replied. "Éomer is busy enough as it is—I am not going to double his burdens."

"So, you are going to let Lothíriel do whatever she pleases to you," Cobryn said grimly.

"Cobryn, please, I must ask you to respect my wishes in this matter," Gúthwyn replied quietly. "I love Éomer and Elfwine more than I could ever hate Lothíriel, and I do not wish to see them suffer because of my discontent. Let bygones be bygones; Amrothos is banished from Rohan, and I will never have to see him again."

Cobryn gave her a long, hard look. "The Gúthwyn I once knew would never roll over and let another step on her like this. I preferred her to what she has become."

With that, he turned around and walked away. "I will not speak of this to Éomer," he called over his shoulder as he reached the door, Gúthwyn staring open-mouthed after him, "but do not expect me to approve of what you are doing."

"Cobryn—" It was too late. Her friend was gone.

Stricken, Gúthwyn sank down onto her bed. Her face was pale as she fought against the urge to weep, but it was a losing battle. Cobryn's rejection had hurt her more than any of Elphir's letters had; why could he not see that she was protecting Elfwine from being raised in a household with two parents who despised each other? Was that to be considered weakness? Why was he angry with her, when she was just doing what was best for her nephew?

_Because it is not what is best for _you_, and you know it,_ a voice in her head suggested bluntly. _Lothíriel is treating you worse than she would a slave, and not once have you taken action to stop it._

_But there is nothing I can do,_ another part of her protested miserably. _I am not a schemer, like Lothíriel; I cannot form elaborate plans of revenge, nor do I want to. If Éomer is to be kept unaware of what is happening, it is I who must remain silent._

_This woman not only gave Amrothos full permission to assault you, but also ruined your friendship with Elphir!_ the other voice insisted indignantly. _Remember how much you used to enjoy his company, how you once looked forward to his letters? Will the queen get no retribution for destroying your relationship with him? Are you going to let her get away with everything she has done to you?_

_What other choice do I have?_ Gúthwyn wondered unhappily.

Éomund's daughter did not know how long she sat there for, Cobryn's words a bitter taste in her mind that she could not eradicate. It was only when her stomach began growling that she realized the time for dinner was nigh; yet even then she did not move, for she did not think she would have the strength to face the queen at the table and pretend that nothing was amiss.

Unfortunately, she did not have a choice in the matter. While she was staring listlessly at her bedroom wall, wondering how she could continue maintaining her brother's obliviousness to the current war raging between the women in Meduseld, the door to her chambers opened.

At first thinking it might have been Cobryn, Gúthwyn straightened, but then she saw that the Valar were intent on playing a cruel joke on her. For her visitor was none other than Lothíriel, a haughty expression on her face as she leaned against the wall.

"Éomer has asked me to remind you that it is time for dinner," the queen said, her eyes flickering over the letters from Elphir that Gúthwyn had left on her desk. She smirked as she stepped forward into the room, though the gesture was strained. "Are you going to tell him, _baby_ sister?"

Gúthwyn met her rival's gaze and saw right through it: for the first time, Lothíriel was worried about getting caught. Despite the fact that the other woman had earlier scoffed at the likelihood of Éomer believing the truth, both of them knew that he would. The balance of power had shifted, the advantage now with Éomund's daughter. Should she so wish, Gúthwyn could march over to Éomer, letters in hand, and relate to him all of the incriminating evidence.

Gúthwyn rose to her feet, slowly approaching the woman she now hated with a passion she had not felt in years. "You are the reason a man I hold in high esteem, one who has done nothing to deserve the siblings he is cursed with, now loathes me… _your highness_. You plotted with Amrothos to poison your own brother's happiness, and I was almost raped because of it."

Lothíriel opened and closed her mouth silently, seeming too taken aback to form words.

"Yes, Lothíriel, I overheard your conversation with Nethiel," Gúthwyn hissed, practically spitting in anger. "I know everything you and Amrothos did three years ago. Éomer would be horrified to discover the monster his wife has become, to learn that you used me as you would a pawn on a chessboard.

"I will not, however, tell him."

The queen looked at her in open confusion.

"As much as I detest you," Gúthwyn spoke bluntly, "I would prefer to have my nephew live in an environment where his parents speak to each other, for my brother would want nothing to do with you if he found out what I have just learned. Consider your marriage in my debt."

Lothíriel's eyes widened, filled with both astonishment and resentment. Obviously, the queen could scarcely conceive that Éomund's daughter had so readily given up what surely amounted to perfect blackmailing material.

"That said," Gúthwyn continued, remembering Cobryn's words and suddenly realizing that they were not quite true, "I would not want you to think that I am letting you off so easily. I am not going to plot and scheme for revenge as you have done in the past, because quite frankly I have neither the time nor the desire to do so."

"Then what are you going to do, baby sister?" Lothíriel inquired, a hint of a challenge in her eyes.

With a small smile, Gúthwyn reached behind the queen and closed the door. Taking a deep breath to contemplate all the many ways in which she would derive pleasure from what she was about to do, she curled her fingers into a fist. "This," she whispered.

The next instant, a highly satisfying _crack_ broke through the air. Lothíriel doubled over, clutching her assuredly broken nose in a futile effort to stop the blood gushing out of it. Gúthwyn lowered her arm and watched her rival gasp in pain, letting the other woman writhe in agony for an enjoyable moment before she grabbed her by the shoulders.

"Does it hurt?" Éomund's daughter asked bitingly, yanking the queen up so that their eyes were level. "A lot, I presume? Multiply that by a thousand… and you will have something close to what I felt when Amrothos was attacking me in the stables and Elphir walked in on us. I was literally _sick_ because of what your brother did to me, and it was _months_ before he disappeared from my nightmares! When you are walking around with a bandage on your nose, I hope you know what it is like to bear the shame of what someone else has done to you!"

Before Lothíriel could reply, Gúthwyn released her and stepped back. "On that day," she said, "you robbed me of both my dignity and my friendship with a man for whom I hold nothing but the utmost respect. Because I have not exposed these crimes to Éomer, you will tell my brother that you tripped over your own feet and fell, face-first, onto the ground. That is something you are good at, lying, is it not?"

Lothíriel opened her mouth, likely to deliver a scathing retort, but Gúthwyn would have none of it. "Get out of my room," she ordered coldly, watching unsympathetically as blood dripped down her rival's face and splattered onto the floor. "Inform Éomer that I shall be at the table in a few minutes. That should give you enough time to recount to him the story of how clumsily you fell."

The queen had no choice but to obey. Her once pale fingers were stained red; she did not dare remove them from her nose, but rather held them there as she inched out of Gúthwyn's chambers. Éomund's daughter slammed the door behind her on the way out, her heart beating frantically at the realization of what she had just done. She had punched her brother's wife—and she had gotten away with it.

Apart from the initial rush of vindication, however, she was not proud of her actions. Lothíriel now hated her more than ever, and the war between them was sure to be renewed with greater ferocity than before. Cobryn may have accused her of weakness, but if being aggressive meant stooping to the level of physical fighting, then perhaps she was better off as a coward. It was either that, or have Éomer discover what everyone in Meduseld had been keeping secret from him for years.

And what to do about Elphir? When she considered Imrahil's son, the natural conclusion she logically arrived at was that he had to be informed of his sister's scheming. Yet as she began drafting the letter in her head, she slowly realized how ridiculous such an explanation would sound. _My lord Elphir, it appears that your beloved sister and brother stopped our letters and then concocted a plan—one that involved Amrothos raping me—to make you despise me, despite the fact that your father was working diligently on our marriage negotiations for months. Why? Well, Lothíriel hates me, although I am not entirely sure of the reason…_

Besides, even assuming he _did_ believe her—in fact, even assuming her letter got to him in the first place—what then? Surely he would want questions answered, such as why she was no longer a virgin, why she had not screamed for help when Amrothos assaulted her in the stables, or why she allowed Cobryn in her chambers so frequently. Although the latter would be a relatively easy complaint to dismiss, the former issues could not be treated as lightly.

Yet if she jumped successfully through those hoops, what would happen next? Would Elphir still want to wed her? Would he start discussing her prospects with Éomer again, believing that she desired the same thing? Would she then be shipped off to Dol Amroth, the place in Middle-earth with perhaps the highest concentration of people who hated her, and be forced to live her life by the sea?

The very thought sent shivers down her spine. As much as she had enjoyed her correspondence with Elphir, if their friendship was renewed it seemed that there was too great a chance of her becoming the unpopular princess of a faraway realm. Having escaped the clutches of an almost-certain marriage once before, Éomund's daughter was determined to avoid such a close call in the future. Was it possible for her to just be friends with Elphir, or would he want more?

Gúthwyn swallowed, looking down at the letters scattered across her desk. She missed the days when her relationship with Elphir had been entirely innocent, when they had discussed nothing more sinister than their children's antics. Unfortunately, she knew that those times were long gone. In the unlikely event that he believed her side of the story, any relief on her part would soon be swept away by his hopes of marriage.

Slowly, she gathered up the pieces of parchment. She carefully folded each of them the way they had been when she found them, though not before sadly rereading the more light-hearted passages. When she was done, she walked over to her wardrobe and gently placed the ruins of a friendship into the drawer where she kept other treasured items: Borogor's pack, Chalibeth's cloak.

_I am sorry, Elphir,_ she told the prince as she shut the drawer, letting darkness smother the envelopes. _I would rather have you hate me than love me._

After carefully wiping the tears from her eyes, Gúthwyn hurried out of her chambers and went into the hall. There, she pretended to be distraught at the sight of Lothíriel's marred features. She played the role perfectly, offering advice on how to staunch the bleeding as well as setting the nose back in place. Éomer was relieved for her concern, not noticing that his wife's cheeks were red with something other than embarrassment.

Only when Cobryn caught her gaze towards the end of the meal, cocked his head silently towards Lothíriel, and shot her a look that read, _Was this your doing?_ did she allow herself to show the slightest signs of anything other than concern. Under the observation of no one but the queen, she winked at her friend.

Cobryn's barely-concealed grin, and the approval behind it, were enough to momentarily erase her doubts—in every regard.


	24. The Hunt For the Ring

**Chapter Twenty-Four**

"Your daughter is beautiful," Gúthwyn complimented Lebryn on a late summer's day, gesturing towards Onyveth. "You will be hard-put to fend off all of her suitors when she is older."

Lebryn laughed, bouncing the two-year-old gently on his hip. He had grown into the role of fatherhood remarkably well. Even though Éomund's daughter occasionally had to give him much-needed reminders, for the most part he was fulfilling his duties as a parent admirably. "Any daughter of mine is bound to be heavily sought after," he boasted, an allusion to the good looks that had won him much attention from the women of Edoras.

Gúthwyn rolled her eyes, but it was true: between Lebryn's exotic, smoldering features and Celewen's beauty, it was only natural that their offspring would be stunning. Even at this early stage, Gúthwyn could tell that Onyveth would be gorgeous when she was older.

"Speaking of being heavily sought after," Lebryn said just then, breaking an amicable silence in which the two of them had continued their walk down the main street, "how is it that you are not yet a wife?"

"For the Valar's sake," Gúthwyn responded, rolling her eyes good-naturedly. In all actuality, she did not mind Lebryn's inquiry, for she knew he would not press her if she showed signs of reticence. "I have no interest in wedding another."

Lebryn lifted an eyebrow. "None at all?" he asked.

Gúthwyn shook her head. "None at all," she confirmed.

"I have a bet with Cobryn," Lebryn said with a smirk, "that someday you are going to have more children than I can count on one hand. Given the way you are with Elfwine, I did not think it an unsafe assumption."

Gúthwyn's cheeks were flaming red. "I cannot believe you have a wager on this!" she exclaimed in mortification, ignoring the small twinge of wistfulness she felt at the idea of having a son or daughter.

"In truth, I would consider Cobryn more of an unwilling participant," Lebryn relented, chuckling at the expression on her face. "He seems to think that you have no intention of getting married. He did, however, say that he would gladly give me a week's pay if I turned out to be right—for some noble reason involving your happiness." He winked at her. "When am I going to collect, eh?"

"Never," Gúthwyn vowed vehemently. "The two of you shall have to call this bet off." As much as she was glad that her friends had started speaking to each other again after their bitter argument over Lebryn impregnating Celewen—their reunion mostly at her urging—she could have done without this result.

Lebryn laughed at her fervor. "Have you so much as kissed a man?" he teased her, though there was a curious lilt to his voice. "Tun on the cheek does not count."

"Of course I have," Gúthwyn muttered, trying not to think about all of the times she had been with Haldor. Instead she concentrated on the one memory she had of Tun in the moonlight—only the second occasion on which she had willingly kissed someone in all her twenty-seven years of life.

Lebryn shot her an appraising look. "Really?" he inquired, a slow smile stealing over his features. "I confess I had believed you to be entirely innocent."

Gúthwyn shrugged uncomfortably, not at all liking the direction that their conversation was headed.

Her friend must have noticed her uneasiness, for he changed the subject. "Since we were discussing children, how are Hammel and Haiweth?"

They spent the next half hour chatting affably. Once in awhile Onyveth opened her eyes and contributed some nonsensical dialogue, but for the most part she was silent in Lebryn's arms. When the two adults parted Gúthwyn meandered up the main road back to Meduseld, frequently stopping to talk to various acquaintances. She did not feel the need to hurry home, for there were still a couple of hours until dinner.

In any case, she was reluctant to place herself in closer proximity to the queen. It had been over a month since Gúthwyn had broken Lothíriel's nose, but while the bones had healed the grudge had simply worsened. After their argument, Lothíriel's horrendous treatment of Éomund's daughter had subsided—yet was now a burden for Mildwen to bear. Despite Gúthwyn's attempts to intervene, Mildwen appeared close to tears most nights and was under constant harassment by the other maids.

Gúthwyn sighed. She did not know how much more of this she could take. It was one thing for Lothíriel to despise her, but to take her anger out on a poor woman trying to earn a living was low—even for the queen. She had long ago given up on finding the reason for Lothíriel's relentless hatred, which seemed to burn brighter than the sun itself. Yet it was becoming increasingly difficult for her to step aside and let her brother's wife control the Golden Hall, especially when it was at the expense of someone like Mildwen.

At length, she could no longer delay her inevitable return home. Praying that Lothíriel would not have devised some new way to torture Mildwen, Gúthwyn trudged up the stairs to Meduseld. As usual, she paused to say hello to the guards.

"My lady," Ceorl said with a grin, "we heard something today that we thought might amuse you." He gestured to himself and Eanwulf, who chuckled at his friend's words.

"What was it?" Gúthwyn asked curiously.

"The queen came inside a little while ago," Ceorl began, lowering his voice so that Éomund's daughter had to lean in closer to hear, "and she attempted to speak to us in Rohirric…"

Eanwulf stifled what sounded suspiciously like a snort.

"I believe she _meant_ to say that it was a nice day out," Ceorl said thoughtfully, "but she ended up telling us that the sky was purple…"

A small smile tugged at the corners of Gúthwyn's lips. Despite the fact that she had been their queen for six years, Lothíriel still had not grasped the tongue of the Rohirric people. In truth, she had not had much practice with the language: commoners usually avoided her out of deference, and Éomer always took care to use Westron at the dinner table. The latter was certainly considerate on the king's part, though Gúthwyn privately thought that her brother was doing his wife a disservice in not providing her greater exposure to Rohirric.

"Now, now," Gúthwyn spoke mildly, albeit trying and failing to conceal her grin, "I am confident that, in time, Lothíriel's vocabulary will improve."

Her words were lost on Ceorl and Eanwulf, both of whom were sniggering as they recalled their valiant attempts to maintain straight faces—not to mention guess at what Lothíriel had intended to say.

"My lady, I dearly hope so," Ceorl at last replied, chuckling. "Until then, I shall have difficulty looking at her without laughing."

Gúthwyn could not help but giggle at this. "Please be kind," she nevertheless felt guilty enough to admonish gently. "I am sure that she is trying her best."

Ceorl smirked as he opened the door for her. "For all our sakes, I pray that she tries harder."

Gúthwyn bit back a smile, bade the two guards farewell, stepped inside the Golden Hall… and found herself in the midst of chaos. Servants were running back and forth, frenetically checking under tables and scouring the remotest corners of the hall. Gúthwyn raised an eyebrow when she saw Mildwen crawl beneath a bench and re-emerge with a worried expression on her face.

"Mildwen, what is going on?" Éomund's daughter asked the harried maid, growing more confused by the second.

"One of Lothíriel's rings is missing," Mildwen explained in a whisper. "The king gave it to her when they married, and she is frantic without it. She is having all of the servants searching for it, and the king is helping her go through their chambers."

Gúthwyn knitted her brow, trying to recall what that particular piece of jewelry looked like. Éomer had had it specially commissioned for his wife; she remembered a blue stone set in a ring that had been wrought with a horse design, a symbol of the union between Dol Amroth and Rohan. The result had been very tasteful, and Lothíriel had worn it faithfully every day until now.

"How did she lose it?" Gúthwyn inquired, surprised that the queen had let it out of her sight in the first place.

"She went to the washing circle today, and put it on her dresser so that it would not slip off her finger," Mildwen informed Éomund's daughter, looking anxious now that she was no longer part of the ring-hunt. In a hushed voice, the other woman added, "I think someone must have stolen it, my lady… she had me cleaning her chambers while she was gone, and when I left it was still there. I do not know how else it could have disappeared… Please excuse me, my lady, she might be angry if she comes out here and sees that I am talking to you…"

As Mildwen scraped a sloppy curtsy and rushed off, Gúthwyn frowned. Considering that, with the exception of Nethiel, the queen likely trusted her servants no further than she could throw them, why would she so carelessly leave such a valuable piece of jewelry out in plain sight—especially when she had asked someone to tidy her room while she was out of Meduseld?

At that moment, Éomer appeared at the far end of the great hall. When he caught sight of her, he motioned for her to come over; she quickly obliged, doing her best to avoid the servants. "Yes, brother?" she asked.

"The ring I gave Lothíriel when we wed is missing," Éomer informed her with a sigh, running his fingers through his hair. "Do you know the one I am speaking of?"

Gúthwyn nodded, still trying to figure out why Lothíriel had been so cavalier with her belongings.

"You have not seen it by any chance?" Éomer asked desperately, his eyes roving around the throne room as if he were hoping to espy it on one of the tables. "She is quite upset."

"I am sorry, but I have not," Gúthwyn replied, smiling sympathetically. "I am sure it will turn up somewhere, likely in a place where no one expects it to."

Éomer lowered his voice. "Lothíriel thinks that one of the servants must have taken it, for she is certain that she left it on her dresser when she went outside. She says that she asked a couple of the maids to clean our chambers while she was gone, and she is convinced that one of them pilfered it then."

Gúthwyn knitted her brow. Lothíriel had only asked Mildwen to tidy up her quarters…

That was when it hit her. "Oh," she replied, the mild tone of her voice disguising the horror behind it. Mildwen would never steal something of the queen's—but Lothíriel had set her up so that the younger servant, not coincidentally the one who had discovered Elphir's letters, would be blamed for the missing jewelry. And in order for the framing to be complete…

All of a sudden, Gúthwyn thought she knew exactly where the ring was. "Who were the maids that Lothíriel had in her room?" she asked, wondering why the queen would implicate more than one servant.

"Nethiel," Éomer answered, "although my wife is adamant that the girl is too loyal for such a crime; and another one… she could not remember the name, but thought it started with Mild or Mold."

"Mildwen," Gúthwyn said automatically.

"Mildwen?" Éomer echoed, shocked. "Is that the quiet one who blushes and hastens to give a curtsy if you so much as look at her?"

Gúthwyn confirmed this with a nod. "Brother, I can vouch for her," she announced firmly. "Mildwen is not a thief."

Éomer looked uneasy. "I do not wish to have to go through anyone's belongings," he admitted, "but I do not think I have a choice. If only Nethiel and Mildwen were in our chambers when the ring went missing, then logic dictates that they are the suspects. I will check with Lothíriel to see if she has found it by now. If she has not, then I shall have no other alternative than to ask them to bring their possessions in front of me."

Gúthwyn frowned as he bid her farewell. This left her with precious little time to act… but she had to do something. She could not let the queen's burning desire for revenge on Éomund's daughter cost an innocent woman her job; she would have to do everything possible to help Mildwen escape her predicament.

"Mildwen," she said in an undertone, spotting the maid as she walked by and pulling her aside, "where do you keep your things?"

Mildwen's eyes widened in shock and hurt. "M-My lady," she whispered, clearly taken aback, "I-I would never do such a thing, I swear! P-Please, my lady…"

"Lothíriel is framing you," Gúthwyn hissed, guiding Mildwen away from the rest of the servants. "She has named you and Nethiel as the only maids in her room while she was away, and you know that she is not planning on Nethiel being found with the ring. I would bet anything in all of Middle-earth right now that what everyone in Meduseld is looking for is mixed in with your belongings."

Mildwen's mouth dropped open in horror.

"Come, quickly!" Gúthwyn urged her. "Éomer is returning to his chambers as we speak to see if Lothíriel has yet recovered it, and if she has not he shall be forced to search through your and Nethiel's possessions. If we do not find the ring before he does, you will lose your job!"

Mildwen needed no further encouragement. Pale and trembling with nervousness, she led Gúthwyn behind one of the large pillars in a corner of the hall. A small pack had been stowed neatly away where no one was in danger of tripping over it; Mildwen knelt to the ground and opened it, dumping its contents onto the floor. There was a soft _clink,_ _clink_ as what looked like a week's worth of wages fell out, along with an apple and an alphabet book—Mildwen had told Éomund's daughter that she was trying to learn how to write.

Then, Gúthwyn saw it. There was a glitter amongst the dull coins, the twinkle of a gemstone that outshone its surroundings. Mildwen gasped, and Gúthwyn's lips thinned, as Lothíriel's ring rolled right out of the maid's pack.

"B-But, m-my lady," Mildwen stammered, "why would she… how… Is this because of Elphir's letters?"

Gúthwyn nodded grimly. "Lothíriel hates me," she replied, "though I know not why; this has little to do with you and everything to do with me." Bending over, she retrieved the queen's ring from Mildwen's belongings. "I am so sorry this happened to you," she told the maid as she did so, her voice laced with disgust. "My guess is that she is trying to send me a warning… and you are the pawn she chose to use."

"I saw Nethiel here earlier, my lady," Mildwen suddenly spoke, appearing as if the recollection had just come to her. "I thought she was cleaning, but she must have hidden the ring then…" Her eyes glistened with tears. "What have I ever done to make Nethiel hate me so much? She mocks me in front of all the other maids, and they always laugh…" She rubbed at her eyes, but it was no use: her cheeks were already wet. "You, Cwene, and Elflede are the only ones h-h-here who don't t-treat me like d-dirt… but Nethiel is the w-w-worst, she always makes fun of me b-because of m-m-my clothes and because my f-family is poor…"

As Mildwen began sobbing, Gúthwyn felt a powerful rush of hatred towards Nethiel. The smug maid had little scruples when it came to gossiping about others, and Éomund's daughter herself had been the recipient of many a sneer from that narrow face. Nethiel had no right to behave in such a manner—especially not to someone like Mildwen, whose family relied upon what she earned to keep food on the table. Mildwen had a score of younger siblings, none of which were old enough to work… small wonder that she was often the last servant in Meduseld at night and the first one cleaning the throne room in the morning.

"Do not worry," she finally murmured, curling her fist around Lothíriel's ring even as she put a consoling arm about the maid. "I am putting an end to this right now." She would no longer abide by Nethiel's haughtiness, her insolence towards Mildwen and Éomund's daughter. Today, Lothíriel and her faithful servant had gone too far; Gúthwyn's patience had reached its breaking point.

"W-What are you going to do, m-my lady?" Mildwen asked, quivering.

Gúthwyn's eyes narrowed. "Nethiel is long overdue for a dose of her own medicine. I think it is time that someone finally gave it to her."

With that, she turned around and stalked away, scarcely able to believe what she was about to do. Marching across the hall, all the while keeping Lothíriel's ring concealed in the palm of her hand, she entered the corridor that led to the king and queen's chambers. She did not, however, go straight to her brother's quarters. Instead she continued down the passage to the small room that had been given to Nethiel, the only servant who made her permanent residence at Meduseld.

The door was slightly ajar. Holding her breath, Gúthwyn peered inside. Thankfully, the space was unoccupied. Nethiel was likely with Lothíriel, feigning to help the queen search her chambers. Angry that Éomer was wasting his time assisting the two of them, concerned for his wife's sake while all along Lothíriel had planned for the ring to go missing, Gúthwyn slipped into Nethiel's room and found her laundry basket.

The maid's clothing collection was not impressive, but certainly contained more garments than most servants'. Since Nethiel did not own a dresser, she kept her shirts and skirts folded neatly in the same container she used to wash them. All Gúthwyn had to do was carefully insert the ring into one of Nethiel's tunics; then she backed out of the room, her heart hammering at what she had done.

Her mission was completed just in time. Scarcely a minute after she had returned to the great hall and sought out Mildwen, Éomer appeared and beckoned the two of them over. "Lothíriel still has not found her ring," he announced gravely. His next words were directed at Mildwen. "My wife has named you and another servant, Nethiel, as the only ones who were in her room while she was gone."

Frightened in the presence of the king, Mildwen swallowed and turned whiter than she already was. Éomer did not seem to be waiting for a response, and continued. "Gúthwyn has given me her word that you are innocent, and I do not doubt that my sister is a capable judge of character. That said, I must ask to search through your belongings, for Lothíriel is certain that the ring was stolen and there is no other way for me to determine if this is true."

At an encouraging look from Gúthwyn, Mildwen nodded. "O-Of course, m-my lord," she murmured breathlessly, performing a hasty curtsy. "M-My things are o-over here…"

Trembling head to foot, she led Éomer to the same pillar she had shown Gúthwyn. "I-I do not have much, your majesty," she confessed, wringing her hands as Éomer knelt down beside her bag and began rifling through it.

Gúthwyn attempted to position herself so that she was blocking the scene from the eyes of anyone who might be nearby, yet it was a futile effort: the few servants close enough to notice them saw around her slight frame and indiscreetly motioned for the others to come over and watch. Mildwen marked their attention and turned bright red in mortification, but she was vindicated a terse minute later when Éomer emerged from his search empty-handed.

"Thank you," he said to Mildwen, who wavered for a moment as if she would faint in relief. "Forgive me for this intrusion; I wish it were not necessary."

"Th-Thank _you_, your majesty," Mildwen stuttered, dipping into yet another curtsy.

Éomer sighed. "Now I shall have to go through Nethiel's possessions," he muttered to Gúthwyn.

Éomund's daughter did her best to maintain an innocent expression. "Perhaps I will help Lothíriel comb over her room once more while you do this," she suggested, fully intending to be nearby when Nethiel received her comeuppance.

"Thank you, sister," Éomer replied, smiling tiredly. "I greatly appreciate your assistance."

With that, the royal siblings turned around and headed back through the hall, though not before Gúthwyn gave Mildwen a quick embrace and told the astonished maid not to fret so much. Once the other servants realized that the woman was no longer under suspicion they dispersed, returning to the search with somewhat of an air of disappointment. Gúthwyn, meanwhile, followed Éomer to the queen's room.

"I found nothing in Mildwen's bag," Éomer declared upon entering his chambers, causing Lothíriel to glance up from where she was checking the pockets of all her dresses. Nethiel was not too far away, carelessly opening and closing drawers with a fatigue suggesting that she had repeated the same exercise dozens of times.

It seemed to take the queen a few seconds to process what her husband had just said; when she did, her mouth fell open and her eyes widened. "Nothing?" she repeated, uncomprehending.

Éomer shook his head. "Nothing," he confirmed. "Nethiel, I shall have to go through your belongings, as well…"

"O-Of course, my lord," Nethiel replied, looking in confusion at Lothíriel. Her mistress stared just as blankly back; the maid was forced to reluctantly walk out into the hall with the king.

"What are you doing here?" Lothíriel snapped the instant she and Gúthwyn were the only ones left in the room.

Gúthwyn made a show of glaring at her brother's wife. "Éomer asked for my assistance," she retorted, knowing that Lothíriel would become suspicious if she admitted to volunteering for the job.

Lothíriel's poisonous gaze was practically burning holes in her, but behind the daggers Gúthwyn could sense that the queen's heart was not truly in another round of verbal sparring. The other woman was distracted, still trying to determine where her carefully-laid plans had gone so wrong.

Make that hideously wrong. Gúthwyn had barely started pretending to look under the bed when the door burst open and Éomer barged into the room, a foul expression on his face. "Come out here," he snarled, his eyebrows slanted in disgust. Even Gúthwyn had to wince at the sound of her brother's voice, though his anger was clearly not directed at Lothíriel.

The queen stiffened; but like in a dream she went forward, meeting her husband outside in the hall. Gúthwyn followed surreptitiously behind, holding her breath in anticipation of what was to transpire. What she saw, however, surpassed her wildest dreams and every expectation of the retribution that Nethiel deserved.

Nethiel was standing out in the middle of the corridor, tears flowing down her face as if a dam had just burst and all the waters were cascading forth. She was clenching something in her right fist, her entire body quaking violently. Éomer stood before her, his shadow covering her in darkness. "Show my wife what I unearthed amongst your clothes," he spat. "Show the woman who gave you a place in her household how you have decided to repay her trust."

Weeping, whimpering, Nethiel slowly uncurled her fingers. Resting in the palm of her hand was a golden band wrought in the image of horses.

"This cannot be," Lothíriel breathed, looking as if all her nightmares had come true.

The blue gem twinkled maliciously up at its owner.

"You are dismissed from my wife's service," Éomer growled at Nethiel. "You have until tomorrow to pack your things."


	25. Snowball Fight

**To the reviewer "Rainbow":** Your questions about Éowyn and Faramir were almost scarily well-timed! Let's just say that most of them will be answered within ten chapters...

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><p><strong>Chapter Twenty-Five<strong>

"There has to be a mistake," was all Lothíriel could say as the color drained from her cheeks. "Nethiel cannot have done this. I-It must have… it must have caught on her sleeve, or…"

Nethiel's tunic did not have any sleeves.

Éomer gave Lothíriel a sad smile. "I know this is devastating for you, my wife," he said gently, "but I found the ring carefully hidden within the folds of one of her shirts. It was not by accident that it came to be there."

"But…" Lothíriel trembled; it was one of the few times Gúthwyn had ever seen her come close to losing her composure in this manner, to giving into something other than anger.

"There will always be someone else to hire," Éomer assured her. "We can find another maid, one who will not try to rob you." He glared at Nethiel.

"But Nethiel cannot have stolen it!" Lothíriel burst out, clenching her fists.

Éomer gave her a pitying look. "You yourself said that a servant must have taken it," he reminded her. "Nethiel and Mildwen were the only ones in your room while you were away, of that you were certain. There was nothing in Mildwen's belongings, yet the ring was concealed in Nethiel's clothes."

"It cannot be so," Lothíriel protested feebly, at a complete and total loss for other words.

"Alas," Éomer replied grimly, "it is." He cast a foul look at Nethiel. "Leave us," he ordered. "If I were you, I would begin gathering my belongings. You will be out of here before noon tomorrow."

"Éomer," Lothíriel began as Nethiel turned on her heel and fled, practically bawling in misery, "she has nowhere to go."

Éomer raised his eyebrows. "You told me that you would gladly fire the culprit, when you knew not who it was. It has been a shock to discover that someone you trusted has betrayed you, but leniency should never be a traitor's reward."

"I never said that it should be," Lothíriel retorted, her expression suggesting that she was doing some quick thinking, "yet the fact remains that Nethiel is not from Rohan. What will happen to her now? Is she to be without a roof over her head in Edoras? Or is she to undertake such a journey as the one to Dol Amroth, alone and unprotected from the dangers that any female traveler must be wary of?"

Gúthwyn flinched. "Brother, we should at least send someone with her to ensure that she arrives safely in Dol Amroth. I doubt she will elect to remain here. Have a messenger accompany her, if naught else."

Catching her pleading tone and fully aware of the reason behind it, Éomer acquiesced with a nod. "It is not prudent for a woman to be on the roads by herself," he agreed gruffly. "I shall write to Imrahil and inform him that Nethiel has been dismissed from our service, and that she is returning to his city with one of my trusted messengers. Does that ease your fears, Lothíriel?"

The queen had no choice but to consent, though her guarded expression momentarily wavered and she appeared to be on the verge of tears. Éomer smiled sadly at her, and then sighed heavily. "I do not recall there being this many problems with the maids when my uncle was still king," he muttered. "I wonder at the boldness of these servants."

Lothíriel could not muster a reply.

"Sister, I am sorry for taking up so much of your time," Éomer apologized, turning to Éomund's daughter, "as well as for holding your maid under suspicion."

Gúthwyn shrugged. "I knew Mildwen was not guilty—but I must say, brother, I was surprised she did not faint in terror. I expect she is dreadfully afraid of you."

When Éomer blinked in astonishment, Gúthwyn laughed and patted him on the shoulder. "Worry not, she is timid by nature. No lasting harm is done. Now, shall I help tidy your chambers? I regret to report that your room is rather disorderly from the search."

"That will not be necessary," Lothíriel was quick to announce, her mouth thinning as she looked at Éomund's daughter. "There is not much cleaning to be done."

"I insist," Gúthwyn said lightly, fully expecting the queen to grow suspicious. Walking past her brother and his wife towards the open door to the royal chambers, she added, "After all, I helped create the mess in the first place."

Lothíriel detected a less than noble purpose behind Gúthwyn's actions almost immediately. As Éomund's daughter began pretending to straighten out the clothes in her brother's wardrobe, she heard Lothíriel apologizing to Éomer for the inconvenience and encouraging him to return to his work.

"Perhaps I will relieve Bregwyn of our son," Éomer suggested instead. Bregwyn's job had long ago evolved from nurse to occasional caretaker. "I am sure Elfwine has quite worn her out already."

Lothíriel gave what sounded to Gúthwyn like a very forced laugh. "As you wish, my lord," she said graciously. "But take care not to let him wear you out, as well."

"That I shall not!" Éomer assured her with a chuckle. Sticking his head through the door to his quarters, he addressed Gúthwyn. "Sister, a thousand thanks for all your assistance," he spoke. "Lothíriel and I both appreciate it."

Gúthwyn smiled at him. "It is the least I can do," she replied.

Éomer grinned at her, and then left. No sooner had his footsteps faded down the hallway than Lothíriel stepped inside the room, her back rigid and her eyes flashing. "I know you are here to gloat about Nethiel," the queen snapped, stalking towards Éomund's daughter. "Your 'cleaning assistance' is neither wanted nor needed. Leave."

Gúthwyn stood her ground. "I am not here to gloat," she contradicted her brother's wife, "but rather to warn you that if you attempt to have one of my maids fired again, you will find that I am far less merciful."

Lothíriel froze as the impact of Gúthwyn's words hit her. "You—" she gasped, staring at Éomund's daughter in utter shock and horror.

"Mildwen would never steal anything of yours," Gúthwyn snarled, closing the small distance between her and the queen until it was positively miniscule. "Yet you would take revenge on her for exposing your own thievery? I am the one you have a quarrel with, not her!"

"You framed Nethiel," Lothíriel whispered, stunned; she did not appear to have been listening to Gúthwyn beyond that point at all.

"Nethiel got what she deserved," Gúthwyn hissed. "That foul woman has absolutely tormented poor Mildwen, thinking she can get away with her atrocious behavior because she is your servant. She has insulted myself, the children, and Cobryn on numerous occasions, not to mention the countless rumors about us that she is undoubtedly behind. By naming her along with Mildwen as the only servants in your room, you sealed her fate. It was either her or Mildwen; and if you thought for one second that I would roll over and let you take a defenseless woman's livelihood away, you were sorely mistaken. Nethiel paid the price for all her deeds today, and I warn you now that the same will befall you should you continue to bully Mildwen."

Gúthwyn stopped, breathing heavily. Lothíriel simply stared at her, seemingly unable to find words worthy enough of a scathing retort. It was clear that the queen had not expected this, had not anticipated her rival bringing about the downfall of her most loyal servant. For the first time since Lothíriel's arrival in the Golden Hall, Gúthwyn was looked upon as a challenge: a true equal who might even defeat the other woman at her own game.

"Did you really think that I would not realize what you were doing?" Gúthwyn asked in disbelief. "That I was such a fool that you could frame one of my maids right under my nose and get away with it? You seem to be under the mistaken belief that I was born yesterday. I will admit that I am not as apt a pupil in the school of petty revenge as you, but I can at least recognize the signs of your cruelty!"

Lothíriel's face was pale, her entire body trembling. Gúthwyn perceived that the queen was so shaken by Nethiel's demise that she could not formulate a reply, that indeed she had nothing to say to Éomund's daughter. Gúthwyn might have pitied Lothíriel for the lost of her faithful servant, had the servant in question not caused her so much misery.

"Can we not set this rivalry aside?" she instead beseeched the other woman, lowering her voice.

Lothíriel's gaze settled upon her, something flickering within the depths of her eyes.

"Stop trying to get rid of Mildwen," Gúthwyn continued. "Stop trying to spread gossip about myself and those I love, and I shall not breathe a word of this to Éomer for as long as I live. Please, can we not end this? I have no desire to be constantly at odds with you. It is fair to neither Éomer nor Elfwine."

There was a long pause. Gúthwyn could hear the distant sounds of servants moving tables in the throne room, but inside the royal chambers the silence was deafening.

"Fine," Lothíriel said at last, her voice thick and her tone heavy. "You have your truce, for now."

_What does _for now_ mean?_ Gúthwyn wondered. Nevertheless she nodded, knowing that this was the best agreement she would ever reach with her brother's wife.

"Thank you," she said, and left the room.

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><p>True to her word, Lothíriel did not harass Gúthwyn in the months that followed Nethiel's departure, nor did any new tales about the children and Cobryn emerge on the streets of Rohan. Éomund's daughter was grateful for this, and looked the other way when the queen wrote her maid a letter of recommendation and sent her from Edoras with enough money to last her the rest of the year. Rumor had it that Nethiel eventually found employment in the household of one of the few Dol Amroth noblewomen sympathetic to Lothíriel, but whether this was certain—or indeed, whether the queen herself had orchestrated it—Lothíriel never confirmed.<p>

In the absence of their ringleader and their mistress's support, the maids noticeably improved their treatment of Gúthwyn. Even Mildwen was looked upon kindlier by her companions, although Gúthwyn suspected this had less to do with Lothíriel honoring their truce and more to do with the ominous firing of Mildwen's cruelest tormentor.

With the tensions in the Golden Hall lying dormant—yet not permanently gone, for beneath her mask of politeness Lothíriel certainly still despised Gúthwyn—summer faded into fall and eventually turned into winter. The new season brought old visitors: Legolas and the Elves returned to Edoras, this time on their way back to Ithilien. At ease from the decreased hostilities in her home, Gúthwyn found that Legolas's appearance did not bother her in the least. The prince was as courteous as ever, and more importantly Elfwine delighted in his presence.

It was for these reasons that the only complaint Gúthwyn had one chilly winter afternoon was the temperature, though she and Legolas were strolling down the street together less than a foot apart. She had made the mistake of not wearing gloves for this particular outing and was sorely regretting her careless decision, but she did not have the heart to call it a day when Elfwine was clearly enjoying himself so much.

The child was about a yard ahead of her and Legolas, ever so often running to the side of the road to scoop up a handful of pure white snow and eat it in rapturous glee. "Auntie Gúthwyn," he called back after swallowing an exceptionally large mouthful, "do you eat this? It's good!" He bent over, beaming, and produced another portion, this time holding it out to her. Then his expression wilted as the snow slipped off his mittens and fell to the ground.

"I do not, little one," Gúthwyn confessed, laughing gaily. "But I can see that you are enjoying it!"

"Tastes good!" Elfwine reiterated. "Leggy, do you eat snow?"

Gúthwyn glanced at the Elf beside her and could not help but laugh. Legolas seemed about as likely as Lothíriel to partake in such a frivolous activity.

Legolas confirmed the obvious with a shake of his head. "I am afraid I do not."

Elfwine frowned. "You two are boring," he complained. The next instant, however, he appeared to have quite forgotten his grievances with them. "Auntie Gúthwyn, will you make me a snowball?" he asked sweetly.

"What do you want a snowball for, little one?" Gúthwyn inquired warily, recalling what had happened the last time she had filled this request. Elfwine had promptly turned around and thrown the snow at Lothíriel, who had insisted on accompanying them during their walk. The intent was innocent, simply a desire to include his mother in his fun, but Lothíriel had not been pleased. Elfwine's overtures had been rebuffed by a thorough scolding and a cold stare at Éomund's daughter.

Yet the young prince apparently had no memory of this incident, and merely smiled innocently at Gúthwyn. "I am going to play with it," he answered coyly.

Gúthwyn sighed, weighed the pros and cons of indulging her nephew, and at last knelt down to gather a mound of snow.

"Thank you, Auntie Gúthwyn!" Elfwine cried, clapping his hands together in delight.

"You are welcome," Gúthwyn replied with a chuckle. She shaped the snow into a sphere as quickly as she could, for she was using her bare hands and the cold was nearly unbearable.

Elfwine bounced impatiently up and down as he waited for her to finish; when she showed signs of nearing completion, he eagerly crowded close to her and held out his hands. Gúthwyn laughed when she placed the snowball in his palms and he shouted for joy, fervently thanking her a second time.

Then she gasped in horror as her nephew took aim and positively flung the snowball at Legolas.

"I got you!" Elfwine crowed triumphantly when the snow sprayed across Legolas's thighs, showering his green leggings with a thin layer of white. "Now you try and get me!"

"Elfwine, no!" Gúthwyn reprimanded the child, mortified.

Legolas looked down at his snow-covered pants, then up at Elfwine.

"I-I am so sorry," Gúthwyn breathed, appalled. "I-I did not r-r-realize…"

"Auntie Gúthwyn, you're being silly again," Elfwine chastised her.

"Elfwine!" Gúthwyn exclaimed, momentarily turning around to berate her nephew. "You cannot throw snow at other people, remember what happened when you did that with your mother?"

"But Mama's mean," Elfwine protested, "and Leggy's—"

All of a sudden, a clump of snow hit him square in the chest. "I knew it!" he whooped a second later, as Gúthwyn whirled back to see a smirking Legolas lower his arm. "I _knew_ you were fun! Auntie Gúthwyn, quick, help me make another snowball!"

His words were a declaration of war, and Gúthwyn was half-unwillingly conscripted into manufacturing her nephew's "weapons." No matter how quickly she produced them, Elfwine was always anxiously waiting for the next round of munitions. The two of them and Legolas spent the following half hour weaving in and out of passerby on the street, tossing snowballs at each other and drawing bemused stares from all who happened to witness the skirmish.

At least, Legolas and Elfwine traded volleys. It was an unspoken agreement between Éomund's daughter and Thranduil's son that they were to abstain from doing so amongst themselves, for Gúthwyn's involvement ended in providing Elfwine with snowballs and Legolas aimed only at the heir of Rohan. Gúthwyn watched closely as Legolas's throws reached Elfwine's arms, legs, and stomach—but never the head. Elfwine's aim was far less discerning, and his efforts hit their target far less frequently, yet he appeared to be enjoying himself immensely. Whenever Legolas had to duck to avoid getting hit, the child's shrieks of glee resonated throughout the air.

As the sun began dipping into the horizon, Elfwine hovered near several bales of hay until Gúthwyn's back was turned and then promptly clambered on top of them. Gúthwyn reluctantly let him remain there, for the stacks were set against a building and he was in little danger of falling. Legolas accordingly threw his snowballs with diminished speed and force, further reducing the risk of harm coming to the young prince. Éomund's daughter smiled when she noticed this. Legolas was excellent with her nephew, making it easier to feel safe in his presence.

Another ten minutes later, when Elfwine was beginning to tire, Gúthwyn knelt down to make one last snowball. Few people remained in this section of the street: by now, most of the Rohirrim had learned to avoid the raging warfare that the king's son, sister, and guest were conducting. Legolas was crouched across the road from her, hastily clumping snow together. His features were obscured by the early evening shadows, but Gúthwyn could tell that he was grinning.

Humming to herself, Éomund's daughter finished making the snowball. Her mind started drifting ahead to dinner. There she would get to see Éomer, who had been in council all day with Lothíriel. She knew her brother would get a good laugh out of hearing how she, Legolas, and Elfwine had spent their afternoon. The thought made her smile and she stood, ready to turn around and give one last snowball to her nephew.

That was when a fistful of snow hit her in the face.

"Oh!" she gasped in shock, struggling to blink the white substance from her eyes. Her hands were full of snow for Elfwine, otherwise she would have used them. Instead she stood there, waiting for her vision to clear as Elfwine's worried shouts of "Auntie Gúthwyn!" rang in her ears.

"Do not worry, little one!" she called out, shifting the snowball back and forth between her freezing hands. Why had she not worn gloves?

"I am so sorry," she heard at that instant. "You stood up after I had thrown—"

Then Legolas's fingers were gently brushing the wetness from her cheeks. Gúthwyn dropped the snowball in surprise, hearing it fall to the ground with a soft _thump_. Slowly, carefully, Legolas drew the snow from her eyelids. "Are you all right?" he inquired as he did so.

"Y-Yes, I am fine," Gúthwyn replied, at last opening her eyes. Gradually she was able to see Legolas a mere few inches away from her, his palm extended and softly touching her skin.

For a moment, it seemed like his hand lingered on her cheek and she was caught, frozen as if time itself had stopped and she were a glass ornament on the verge of shattering. She could do nothing but watch Legolas, waiting for something to happen, her body utterly still under the beam of his penetrating blue gaze.

Then he let his arm fall to his side and smiled tentatively at her. "Are you sure?" he asked.

Gúthwyn nodded quickly, flushing at his stare. "I am fine," she repeated breathlessly.

"Auntie Gúthwyn!" Elfwine's shrill voice caused them both to start and look up, whereupon they saw the four-year-old scrambling down the haystacks. "Auntie Gúthwyn, Leggy hit you! You hurt?"

Before Éomund's daughter could respond, the child launched himself across the street and at her legs. Once he had wrapped his arms tightly around her, he made a face and stuck his tongue out at Legolas.

"I am not hurt, little one," Gúthwyn promised her nephew, reaching down and ruffling his curly hair. "Legolas just surprised me, that is all."

Elfwine glared suspiciously at Legolas. "You throw snowballs at me," he ordered crossly. "Not at Auntie Gúthwyn."

"My apologies," Legolas said sincerely.

Confident that the Elf had understood his reprimand, Elfwine buried his face in Gúthwyn's stomach. "I'm hungry," he mumbled. "When is dinner?"

"Soon," Gúthwyn answered. "Then you can see your mother and father."

Elfwine's eyes lit up as he pulled back from her torso. "Papa said he'd tell me a story about a big battle!"

"A battle that he was in?" Gúthwyn queried, wondering if she, too, had also taken part.

Elfwine paused, frowning in bewilderment. "A battle," he at length reiterated indecisively. "Can I have my snowball now?"

Legolas pretended to recoil in horror as Gúthwyn bent over and obligingly found what she had dropped earlier. When she gave it to her nephew, Elfwine wasted no time in chucking it as hard as he could at Legolas.

"Elfwine," Gúthwyn scolded mildly as snow showered over Legolas's boots.

The child giggled in response. "That was for Auntie Gúthwyn," he informed Legolas smugly.

"Fair enough," Legolas conceded, meeting Gúthwyn's eyes and smiling.

Elfwine yawned, tired of the game. "I want to go inside. I'm cold. Auntie Gúthwyn's cold, too."

Legolas looked at Éomund's daughter, who at that moment realized that she was, in fact, freezing. She was shivering so violently that her knees were banging together beneath her woolen dress—to say nothing of the rest of her body.

"Your teeth are chattering," Legolas observed worriedly. "And your hands—"

He reached out as if to take one, but then stiffened like he had been caught committing a horrible crime. Gúthwyn, too, tensed, suddenly nervous. Elfwine glanced back and forth between the two of them, his expectant gaze finally coming to rest on Gúthwyn. Éomund's daughter tried to pull back, but an almost irresistible force seemed to be lifting her hand and extending it to Legolas. _Are you so pathetic that you cannot endure his touch, not even for a few minutes?_ a voice in her mind goaded her on.

Legolas's eyes held hers, an unspoken question within them asking for permission. Gúthwyn nodded, though she was already quivering, and held her breath when he inclined his head and stretched his fingertips towards hers. An instant later, their hands touched.

"They are cold as ice," Legolas murmured.

Gúthwyn made a silent gesture of agreement, unable to do aught else as the Elf gently rubbed her palm with his own. "We should go inside," he said quietly.

"Auntie Gúthwyn, want my mittens?" Elfwine chimed in, starting to remove them from his hands.

Gúthwyn could not help but smile; Legolas grinned as he lowered her arm and let go. "Thank you, little one, but I would not fit into your mittens," Éomund's daughter said apologetically. "Put them back on, or you will be cold as well!"

Elfwine pulled his mittens on with some difficulty, looking disgruntled that he had not been able to provide assistance. Gúthwyn bent over and kissed his forehead, returning some of the happiness to her nephew's eyes. Legolas then suggested a second time that they retire for the evening, to which she and Elfwine readily agreed. Soon they were walking back up the main road, drawing ever closer to the warmth of the Golden Hall.

Although Elfwine chattered ceaselessly, as was his wont, neither Legolas nor Gúthwyn contributed much to the conversation. Éomund's daughter could still feel the Elf's touch against her skin, and it confused her when she could not determine whether she had been repulsed or lulled into a sense of security by it. Ever so often she thought she saw Legolas watching her out of the corner of her eye; the one occasion she was bold enough to lift her gaze and catch him, she immediately blushed and had to look away again. Not once had she thought of Haldor while Legolas was warming her hands—and when she suddenly realized that she would not have minded if his palms had lingered, she turned an even deeper red.

Was this what recovery felt like?


	26. Lothíriel's Day Off

**A/N:** Just to warn you guys... next chapter is going to be epic.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Twenty-Six<strong>

Lothíriel awoke one fine spring morning in her twenty-eighth year, her mind already racing with plans for the upcoming day as if she had been dreaming about them all night. For once, she and Éomer had no council meetings; it was the first time either of them had had so much as an afternoon off in months. Perhaps they and Elfwine could take a picnic out to the plains and spend several hours there—it had been too long since she had been able to devote more than a few minutes to her son.

Getting out of bed, Lothíriel prepared to face the day. A certain melancholy, one whose grasp she ever tried and failed to avoid, caught hold of her when she looked at her wardrobe and knew that Nethiel would not be there, happily gossiping as she searched for the perfect outfit for her mistress. Because of Lothíriel, Nethiel was gone; a sharp slice of guilt cut through the queen as she gazed upon a colorful myriad of gowns. The brightness of the expensive fabrics did nothing to lessen her remorse.

As always, Lothíriel berated herself heavily for underestimating her rival. When her cunning had mattered the most, it had deserted her. She had forgotten that Gúthwyn's passivity in matters concerning herself was by no means reflected in her willingness to help her loved ones. If only Éomund's daughter had returned to Meduseld an hour or two later... but it was no use dwelling on the past. Instead, Lothíriel assessed her situation in the present. It was dismal, at best: she had lost the one maid who had ever proven herself trustworthy, her remaining servants were too frightened to carry out any effective schemes, and to top it all off she was utterly alone.

The truth was, she had yet to make a single friend in Rohan. Nethiel—who had managed to learn Rohirric fairly quickly—had been her sole connection to the women of Edoras, the lifeline Lothíriel had subconsciously clung to in order to manipulate people against Gúthwyn. Now Nethiel was gone, and the washing circles were forever closed to the queen. The few times she had attempted to socialize, she was greeted with meek silence and the half-hearted stuttering of the few brave (and considerate) enough to address her in the Common Tongue.

The men with whom Éomer and Gúthwyn so easily mingled were deferential to the point of distant around Lothíriel. The warriors under her husband's command saw her only as their king's wife, an inconvenience who necessitated their obsequiousness. Lothíriel knew that many of the soldiers were unsure of how to treat her, for it had been long since Rohan had had a queen. Furthermore, she was so painfully different from the familiarity of Éowyn and Gúthwyn—who participated in the activities of men and had won popularity for it—that most of the men had not the faintest inkling of what to make of the Dol Amroth princess.

In reality, the only citizens of Edoras who saw Lothíriel as something other than a delicate ornament on the king's arm were the councilors with whom the royal family held almost daily meetings. Aldor, Aldhelm, Breowine, and the other advisors certainly held respect for her, but their hard-won admiration for her knowledge of government and the art of diplomacy never extended to a desire to hold a conversation with her about something other than politics.

Lothíriel shook her head, still standing uselessly in front of her wardrobe. Why should this bother her, when she had spent most of her life in isolation? Loneliness was a constant companion of hers, one whose shadow she should have grown used to by now. She had never had the childhood someone like Gúthwyn had—not the adoration of the populace, nor the indulgence of her father's friends, nor the freedom to do whatever she wanted whenever she wanted—and she had emerged all the stronger for it. Gúthwyn's education and manners paled in comparison to Lothíriel's. The queen of Rohan was logical and methodical, carefully considering all courses of action before making informed decisions for the kingdom.

_And yet,_ a nasty voice inside her head reminded her, _not one person in Rohan—Éomer included—loves you more than her.  
><em>  
>Lothíriel violently yanked a pale blue dress off its hanger, willing herself to become immune to these feelings. Gúthwyn's admiration from the masses was to be expected, having had years to develop. Éomer was devoted as equally to Lothíriel as he was to his sister. So what if lately all of his free days had been spent with Gúthwyn, if lately all he seemed to want to discuss was the possible interest Legolas appeared to be taking in Éomund's daughter? And why should Lothíriel be upset if all her son ever did was play with his aunt, if he ran right past his mother in favor of embracing his favorite caretaker?<p>

Today would be different; Lothíriel was determined that it would be so. She, Éomer, and Elfwine would go on a ride in the morning, perhaps stopping for a picnic at the River Snowbourn. There, Elfwine could have another swimming lesson, and the queen would get to see the delight in her son's eyes as he splashed enthusiastically at the water. It would be an afternoon free of Gúthwyn, and hopefully devoid of the mere mention of her.

Smiling somewhat bitterly at the fantasy—for Gúthwyn had the unique talent of ruining Lothíriel's day even when she was not physically present to do so—the queen finished dressing herself. When she was done, and after a thorough brushing of her hair, she gave herself a critical once-over in the mirror. Despite giving birth to Elfwine, her figure was still shapely. Éomer had certainly never complained, at least. And yet... Lothíriel frowned, for she was not the thinnest woman in the Golden Hall.  
><em>At least I did not have to starve myself for this waist<em>, she thought waspishly, turning away from the mirror. Were it not for her inexplicable aversion to food, Lothíriel suspected that Gúthwyn would have had the same build as her sister: slender, to be sure, but muscular, and by no means as lithe as Lothíriel. Not that beauty was a competition, of course—and if it were, Lothíriel privately envied Éowyn for her stunning curtain of golden hair—but back in Dol Amroth, all of the women closely scrutinized each other's diet.

Momentarily pausing to thank the Valar for hearing her prayers and rescuing her from the hell that was her father's kingdom, Lothíriel exhaled and then left her chambers. As her mind returned to its plans for the day ahead, her steps grew noticeably lighter. She could already hear Elfwine babbling away, likely clamoring for more food. A rare smile graced her features as she emerged into the throne room... and then was promptly erased when she saw the scene before her.

Gúthwyn and Éomer were together at a table, their faces filled with mirth as they laughed heartily about something. Elfwine was sitting in Gúthwyn's lap—something he no longer condescended to do with Lothíriel—and beaming whenever he met his aunt's eyes.

"Sister, really, perhaps you should have been kinder with poor Gamling yesterday," Éomer was saying, chuckling. "I daresay he woke up this morning to discover several new bruises."

"He was the one who challenged me to a duel," Gúthwyn retorted happily. "All I did was defeat him."

"Auntie Gúthwyn wins all the battles," Elfwine announced proudly.

"Not all of them, little one," Gúthwyn gently corrected her nephew. _Little one this, little one that,_ Lothíriel thought to herself, hovering unnoticed at the far end of the hall. "Just some."

"All!" Elfwine protested, sticking his tongue out.

"What about your father?" Éomer demanded in mock indignation. "Which battles do I win?"

Elfwine's answer was immediate. "The ones Auntie Gúthwyn's not in."

In response, Éomer put a hand on his companions' heads and ruffled their hair. Both Gúthwyn and Elfwine squealed in amusement, unsuccessfully attempting to put themselves out of reach.

"Brother, I pray you will not do this right before an important feast!" Gúthwyn exclaimed when the king was done, her hands reflexively raising to smooth down the worst of the resulting frizz. "You always complain that I do not devote enough time to my appearance, and then when I do you go and ruin it!"

Éomer made a face at her, and Lothíriel barely managed to keep herself from rolling her eyes at their banter. She and her brothers had never engaged in such juvenile conversation. Clearing her throat, she stepped further out into the Golden Hall and began making her way to her husband.

Neither Éomer, Elfwine, nor Gúthwyn acknowledged her until she was practically on top of them. "Lothíriel!" Éomer exclaimed happily as she sat down beside him. "I thought you would have slept later—you were saying yesterday how tired you were. Did you get enough rest?"

Lothíriel nodded. "Yes, thank you. Good morning, Elfwine."

"Morning, Mama," Elfwine replied dutifully.

Gúthwyn did not go so far as to speak to Lothíriel, but she ventured a tentative smile that the queen coolly returned. Once the loathsome exercise of exchanging niceties with Éomund's daughter had been completed, Lothíriel turned to her husband. "Since we have a day free of meetings," she began, studiously ignoring Gúthwyn, "would you be interested in taking Elfwine to the Snowbourn? He has not had a lesson in—"

"Actually, Gúthwyn and I were thinking that Elfwine might enjoy a trip to the training grounds," Éomer said. He grinned across the table at Gúthwyn, who suddenly looked horribly discomfited. "Would you like to accompany us, dear wife? Should my baby sister be brave enough to accept my challenge"—he cast a taunting glance at Gúthwyn, and she glared back at him in return—"we will need someone to watch the little rascal here."

"_You're_ a rascal," Elfwine petulantly protested.

Lothíriel had done a fair share of acting recently: feigning indifference whenever she was greeted uncomfortably by the Rohirric populace, pretending that the outright preference her husband's friends had for Gúthwyn did not bother her, concealing her tears when Elfwine ran straight past her to embrace his aunt—but never before had a performance been so easy as the one she gave now. "That sounds wonderful," she enthused, smiling at Éomer. Her perkiness astounded even her. "I am certain Elfwine would love to watch the warriors at practice, especially since one day he will be among them!"

"I'm going to be a Marshal, like Elfhelm and Erkenbrand," Elfwine announced proudly. "I'm going to win lots of battles!"

"Hopefully there will not be many battles for you to win," Éomer murmured, exchanging a meaningful glance with Gúthwyn. His own wife, of course, could not possibly understand the difficult times of war. "Lothíriel," he said in the next breath, "shall I call a servant over to bring you something for breakfast? I expect Elfwine will want to stay at the training grounds for most of the day, so you had best eat well."

_Of course, my lord husband,_ Lothíriel thought sardonically. _What better use could I make of my time than watching you and that whore you call your sister duel each other? There is certainly nothing that _I _would like to do today, a thousand thanks for asking.  
><em>  
>She only uttered the first part of her acidic response out loud. Pleased, Éomer turned and gestured for a servant. When one appeared at the table, Lothíriel tried to request some toast in Rohirric. Halfway through, Éomer broke out in laughter and Elfwine hysterically demanded to know why she wanted to eat a horse.<br>Lothíriel was humiliated, and it only mortified her even further when Gúthwyn took pity on her and quickly gave the correct order to the stupefied maid. Not for the first time, she cursed the uncouth Rohirric tongue. Just when she was under the impression that she could carry a fairly simple conversation, she forgot the correct word or conjugation and made a laughingstock of herself.

"Mama, you can't eat a horse!" Elfwine shrieked accusingly at her, almost in tears. "Papa, make her stop!"

By the time Lothíriel had convinced her son that she had no intentions of consuming a mare or a stallion for her morning fare, she had a pounding headache and was in no mood to venture out to the training grounds. When her breakfast came, it was a welcome distraction. Letting Éomer and Gúthwyn entertain Elfwine, she concentrated only on the dry bread in front of her—a paltry meal in comparison to what she used to be served in Dol Amroth.

After she finished, Éomer suggested that they leave for the training grounds. "It is a wonderful day out," he said happily, referring to the beautiful May weather that Rohan was blessed with. "Perfect training conditions."

"Ay, that it is," Gúthwyn agreed cheerfully—"although it is somewhat cool."

Éomer rolled his eyes. "Sister, is there ever an occasion on which you are not cold?"

"During the summer," Gúthwyn said defensively, though her eyes were amused and she clearly did not mind Éomer's exasperation.

Lothíriel heaved an inaudible sigh at the banter being exchanged by the siblings. It was always the same. Would they never grow tired of arguing over the surrounding temperatures, of needling each other about their swordsmanship? The daily routines of life in Edoras suddenly seemed excruciatingly monotonous. Would she be listening to these exact taunts, these exact complaints, for the rest of her years?

The queen tried not to dwell on this chilling glimpse into the future as she, Éomer, Elfwine, and Gúthwyn left the Golden Hall. With any luck, Gúthwyn's health would fail her before long and she would succumb to one of the innumerable diseases that seemed to plague her constantly. Lothíriel did not feel guilty for such thoughts; she accepted them as natural, as something one who was continually being pushed aside in favor of another might feel.

Her resentment only increased as their progress was consistently slowed on account of Gúthwyn stopping to chat with nearly everyone they ran into. Éomund's daughter appeared to know intimate details of almost all the citizen's personal lives, and inquired after the welfare of each of her acquaintances' families. She was particularly close with the young men of the city, who deferred to her just as much as Éomer on matters involving the sword. There was easy chatter amongst the king, his sister, and whichever soldier they happened to run into; even Elfwine took it upon himself to befriend the warrior.

Lothíriel, on the other hand, was politely greeted and then paid as little attention to as if she had been a wall. The conversations were held exclusively in Rohirric, leaving her to look on with feigned interest and struggle to decipher what was being said. After the third or forth such encounter with one of her subjects, she gave up and contemplated instead how ironic it was that no one ever seemed to care about her, despite the fact that she had once been a princess and now was a queen.

_Granted, a princess last in line for the throne and a queen that Rohan did not need,_ the pragmatic part of her reminded herself. As long as Imrahil, her brothers, and Éomer loved her, why should it matter if they were the only ones that did? She had realized many years ago that she would never have any friends in Dol Amroth, and she had been foolish to hope that by coming to Rohan things would change.

Nevertheless, by the time she and her family finally made it to the training grounds, Lothíriel was thoroughly berating herself for having agreed to go on this particular outing. Éomer and Gúthwyn were soon dueling each other, cheered on enthusiastically by Elfwine. The queen usually enjoyed seeing her husband display his considerable talent with a blade, but his sister's presence sullied the experience. There was nothing about the other woman that Lothíriel did not despise, and the very sight of her was infuriating.

As if he could read her thoughts, Elfwine at one point drew his eyes away from the combat before him and gazed closely at Lothíriel. "Mama, why do you hate Auntie Gúthwyn?" he asked.

Lothíriel blinked. She was well aware that Elfwine was a lot more perceptive than most children his age, but the query caught her off-guard and for a moment she could only stare at her son. How had he detected the animosity between the two women, when Éomer was utterly oblivious and would have been shocked to learn that his wife and sister were anything less than friendly to each other?

"I do not hate Auntie Gúthwyn," she finally protested, managing a laugh. "That is ridiculous, Elfwine. Why would you ask such a foolish question?"

"You do, too," Elfwine retorted churlishly. "You say mean things about Auntie Gúthwyn. I don't like it. Auntie Gúthwyn don't like you, but she don't say mean things about you."

_How magnanimous of her,_ Lothíriel thought sarcastically. She plastered a sweet smile over her sour musings and inquired, "Elfwine, when have I ever said something 'mean' about your aunt?"

Elfwine frowned. "You and Neth'el"—Lothíriel's eyes briefly closed at the memory of her only loyal servant—"say bad things about Auntie Gúthwyn. And then you laugh at her. I hate Neth'el."

"Elfwine, that is not very nice," Lothíriel scolded her son, choosing to neither confirm nor deny the child's accusations.

"_You're_ not very nice, Mama," Elfwine pointed out matter-of-factly, his dark eyes meeting hers levelly.

Lothíriel's mouth dropped open. "E-Excuse me?" she spluttered, shocked.

"You're not very nice," Elfwine repeated patiently, with the tone of someone explaining that one and one made two. "Maybe if you be nice, more people like you."

The queen gaped at the young prince—at first in astonishment, then in anger. How dare he address his mother so boldly? How dare he treat her so rudely?

"I suppose you think that _Auntie Gúthwyn_ is nice," she ground out, barely able to speak through her fury.

Elfwine nodded emphatically. "Auntie Gúthwyn is the nicest person in the whole world," he declared.

"That she is," said a passing-by Elfhelm. Elfwine waved enthusiastically at the Marshal, who winked at him and then nodded politely at Lothíriel. The queen bestowed an insincere smile upon yet another of Gúthwyn's admirers, relieved when one of the soldiers called him away.

Elfwine gazed in awe after Elfhelm, appearing to have quite forgotten his earlier words to Lothíriel. The queen was not so easily distracted, however, and her son's censure of her character was soon all she could think about. To her horror, she even felt an all-too-familiar lump arising in her throat. First the court of Dol Amroth, then the entire population of Edoras, and now her own son. Lothíriel did not know how many more cold shoulders she could take.

She stood there quietly, ignoring Elfwine's ceaseless chatter—which suddenly struck her as excessively irritating—and praying for Éomer to finish so that they could leave the training grounds as soon as possible. So much for a day off! She would much rather have been at a meeting discussing sheep than be forced to sit in this foul-smelling place and watch her husband spar with his whore of a sister.

After awhile, Lothíriel gave up even pretending to be interested in the siblings' duel and simply stared down at the ground. What felt like hours later, she heard Éomer and Gúthwyn's voices drawing closer. When she realized that they were engaged in yet another round of banter about who was better with a sword, she almost screamed. Did neither of them have anything else to talk about? There were few things that Lothíriel missed about Dol Amroth, but compelling conversation was one of them. At least in her father's court, discussions centered around anything from the latest published novel to the newest theatrical productions to the most recent fashions. Here, people only seemed to care about honor and horses.

She knew the citizens of Dol Amroth considered the Rohirrim to be little better than savages. Lothíriel had once been insulted by this description of her husband's subjects, but now she was beginning to understand just how uncivilized a place like Edoras was in comparison to her home. Had she made a mistake in coming here? Had she been so eager to get away from Dol Amroth that she had rushed into marriage with the first person who appeared to be remotely attracted to her for who she was?

Before her heart could leap to Éomer's defense, her mind pointed out, _He may have liked your personality, but if you had not come with the political advantage of having an alliance with such a powerful country it is highly doubtful he would have wedded you. Rohan's financial situation was woeful when he arrived in Gondor, and how better to obtain the promise of recurring aid than through marriage?_

"Lothíriel?"

Startled, the queen glanced up to see Éomer and Gúthwyn watching her, evidently waiting for a response. While her attention wandered, so had Elfwine—he was already in his aunt's arms.

"I am sorry," she apologized, looking bitterly at her son. "I was lost in my thoughts. What were you saying?"

"I asked if you were ready to go back," Éomer obliged her, his cheeks flushed from exertion and good humor.

"Yes, of course," Lothíriel replied, thanking the Valar for their mercy—even though it was rather overdue.

"I trust our son was well-behaved?" Éomer asked, glancing sidelong at Elfwine.

"I _always_ behave," Elfwine asserted, beaming. His answer earned a giggle and a kiss from Gúthwyn.

"Oh, little one," the whore murmured happily.

Lothíriel wanted to gag at her rival's cooing. Instead, she complimented Éomer on the match—not that she even knew who had won.

Éomer grinned at her speech. "My baby sister will lose eventually. Perhaps tomorrow."

"That was what you said yesterday," Gúthwyn taunted him.

"Aye, but what happened the day before that?" Éomer inquired innocently.

Gúthwyn narrowed her eyes at him in a mock glare, but remained silent.

"So, you see," Éomer told Lothíriel triumphantly, "Gúthwyn's victory is but fleeting, and shall certainly be forgotten on the morrow."

_Am I supposed to care?_ Lothíriel wondered.

"Papa, I'm hungry," Elfwine announced just then, allowing Lothíriel to avoid participating in the exceedingly dull conversation. "We eat soon?"

"Soon," Éomer promised. "Sister, will you be joining us?"

"I would love to," Gúthwyn said.

Elfwine cheered at this. "Auntie Gúthwyn, you tell me a Hobbit story? Please?"

Gúthwyn laughed. "Of course, little one," she promised.

Not for the first time, Lothíriel wondered why she was even here. What was the point of her being Elfwine's mother, if the only woman he cared about was Gúthwyn? What was the point of her being Éomer's wife, if he was more interested in his sister's company? What was the point of her being Rohan's queen, if her subjects were loyal to Éomund's daughter?

_What is so special about Gúthwyn?_ Lothíriel asked herself for the thousandth time. _Why does everyone love her so much?_

Her assessment of the other woman—a too-slender harlot with at least one illegitimate child, if not two—certainly did not provide the queen with a suitable answer. What was it, then? Lothíriel scrutinized her rival. Gúthwyn was not even pretty: she was a thin-haired skeleton, utterly lacking in figure and class. Why would any man love Éomund's daughter, especially when she so easily spread her legs for his friends?

Elfwine's remark, _Auntie Gúthwyn is the nicest person in the whole world_, she ignored. After all, she had been raised in Dol Amroth. She had learned from first-hand experience that 'nice' people simply did not exist.

Or, if they did, they never lasted long.


	27. The Last to Know

**Chapter Twenty-Seven**

Gúthwyn was twenty-eight when a rapid succession of events interrupted the life she had built for herself in Edoras, ensuring that she would never again reside in Rohan.

The particular day on which these events unfolded did not, at first glance, appear to be capable of fostering such unhappy circumstances. It was early July, and thus the weather was warm enough for even Éomund's daughter. The sun was shining, the cloudless sky was a gorgeous shade of blue that no amount of expensive dye in Dol Amroth could replicate, and for once the usual gusts of wind had rescinded to a pleasant breeze that softly caressed the skin.

Gúthwyn awoke that morning, ate breakfast with Éomer and Elfwine—Lothíriel was sleeping late—and had her usual session at the training grounds. She won a match against Lebryn, despite his amusing attempts to cheat, and then lost a round to Elfhelm (but was victorious when she challenged him a second time). Tun even worked up the nerve to ask her to spar with him, and their conversation was such that when they were done, Éomund's daughter was convinced that their friendship would soon return to normal.

As a result, she was in high spirits when noon came around and necessitated her going back to the Golden Hall for lunch. She took her time in walking there, and the process was further slowed by numerous reunions with various friends. Hildeth and Wífled were washing clothes up the street, and though they refused to let her help they were more than willing to chat with her for several minutes.

After Gúthwyn bade the two of them farewell, it was not long before she ran into Cobryn. Delighted when he informed her that he had a rare afternoon off, she insisted that he accompany her on a ride. Her mind rapidly formed additional plans, and she soon suggested that the two of them also bring a picnic and eat on the plains. Despite his protestations that such an outing, although innocent in nature, would provoke undue amounts of gossip, Gúthwyn could not have cared less. She succeeded in wearing her friend down, and half an hour later their horses were carrying them through the city gates.

As always, Cobryn proved to be an excellent companion. She provoked him into a race, which he lost. He then challenged her to a battle of wits, which he won. After, the two of them set up a picnic well within view of the city walls—for the sake of both Balman's nerves and anyone hoping to gossip about where they had disappeared to—and spent the next hour talking and eating.

Cobryn was Gúthwyn's main source of information concerning Hammel, and today he had good news: Hammel was being quite sociable with Aldeth, and the two teenagers seemed closer than ever. Furthermore, Hammel's prowess with a sword had greatly improved, although he still appeared to have no inclination to join an _éored_, and he had even befriended a few of the boys in his class.

Naturally, Cobryn questioned Éomund's daughter at considerable length about her own welfare. Her truthful responses to the inquiries were, in effect, that she could not have been happier. She was consuming three meals a day, and she had not had a nightmare in months. As her physical and mental health had taken a turn for the better, so had Sceoh's: he now showed signs of pleasure at her visits, and he had even consented to let the stableboys groom him on occasion. Meanwhile, her correspondence with Éowyn was blossoming, her relationship with Haiweth was back on solid footing, and she and Elfwine were practically inseparable.

In short, as she told Cobryn, she hoped that the rest of her life would be as it was now.

"Unfortunately, that is unlikely to happen," Cobryn said with a grin; "but for you, I hope it does."

Cobryn had spoken wisely, Gúthwyn reflected on the way back to Edoras—yet in such perfect weather as this, when her situation had never been better, she was finding it impossible to believe that anything could mar her happiness. And why should it? She loved her family, her people, her home; there was nowhere in all of Middle-earth she would rather be than in Rohan.

When Gúthwyn and Cobryn returned to the Golden Hall, they went their different ways. He needed to prepare some lesson plans for the class of boys he taught in the morning, and she had been asked by Elfwine to play outside. Now five, Elfwine had accumulated quite a following of friends and appeared to have the same determination as his aunt to meet everyone in Edoras.

Today, Elfwine and his companions decided to play an enthusiastic game of tag. Unlike most of the mothers in this particular social circle, Gúthwyn had no qualms about being dragged into her nephew's activities, and indeed thoroughly enjoyed them. She now considered herself an expert in the art of losing on purpose, not to mention without appearing as if she were being lenient.

Late in the afternoon, Lebryn wandered over with three-year-old Onyveth. Both father and daughter joined the game, though Gúthwyn could not tell which of them was having more fun. When she mentioned this to Lebryn, her friend made a face at her and pointedly tagged her with far more force than was necessary.

Eventually the children tired themselves out, and Gúthwyn found herself walking with a yawning Elfwine back to Meduseld. "That was fun," Elfwine said, holding her hand as they began to climb up the stairs. "Lebryn's fast."

"Yes, he is," Gúthwyn agreed. Lebryn had always been quick. Gúthwyn did not doubt that when he had ridden with Éomer to the Pelennor Fields, his speed had often been the difference between life and death. Lacking his right arm, Lebryn would have found himself at a significant disadvantage in the midst of battle—but his considerable other skills had kept him out of harm's way.

"He's Onyveth's papa?" Elfwine wanted to know, stumbling over the girl's name.

Smiling, Gúthwyn gave him the correct pronunciation and assured him that Lebryn was indeed the father.

"Can we play with them again?" Elfwine asked eagerly.

"Certainly, little one," Gúthwyn replied, pleased that her nephew had gotten along so well with her friend's daughter. She did not often cross paths with Lebryn, and hopefully now would have more reason to do so.

Elfwine grinned happily. "Good." His mind wandered almost immediately, however, and soon he was begging her to tell him a story. "One with horses," he insisted. "Lots of horses."

"I will," Gúthwyn promised, laughing at his eagerness. "Once we go inside and sit down, you shall hear the tale of a thousand horses."

"A _thousand_?" Elfwine echoed, astonished.

"A thousand," Gúthwyn confirmed, wondering how on Middle-earth she was going to include so many animals in one story.

Her mind was still hurrying to invent a plotline as the doors to Meduseld opened and Lothíriel walked out onto the landing. As usual, the queen was clad in white, a color which seemed to enhance the paleness of her skin. When she looked down and saw her son with Gúthwyn, her eyes narrowed.

Éomund's daughter gave an inaudible sigh. Lately, Lothíriel had seemed to take offense at the mere sight of her rival, especially if she was with Elfwine. Gúthwyn had decided it was simply a matter of the queen seizing any excuse she could to dislike her husband's sister, and it rarely bothered her more than a minor irritation. She prayed that today, which had been so wonderful until now, would be no different.

"Hello, Mama," Elfwine said politely as he and Gúthwyn reached the landing.

"Hello, Elfwine," Lothíriel replied, ignoring Éomund's daughter. "What are you doing?"

"Auntie Gúthwyn's telling me a story," Elfwine explained, glancing back and forth between the two women. For her nephew's sake, Gúthwyn offered the queen a smile; it went unreturned. "It has a _thousand_ horses!"

"I am sure it is a very nice tale," Lothíriel responded smoothly. "May I play with you when you are done?"

Gúthwyn was glad to hear this. Elfwine rarely had a chance to interact with his mother, and Éomund's daughter had a feeling that this separation was slowly but steadily harming their relationship.

Elfwine, however, looked hesitant. "I want to play with Auntie Gúthwyn after," he mumbled, gazing pleadingly up at Gúthwyn.

Éomund's daughter swallowed as Lothíriel's eyes flashed in her direction. Unfortunately, Elfwine had just put her in a difficult position: as much as she was reluctant to refuse her nephew, she was mortified on Lothíriel's behalf and did not want the queen to be insulted. Thanks to Hammel, she knew all too well what it was like to be slighted by one's own child, and she did not wish the experience on her brother's wife.

"Little one, I think it is time you played with your mother," Gúthwyn said kindly, ruffling the young boy's hair.

"But Auntie Gúthwyn," Elfwine protested immediately, "I don't _want_ to play with her."

Gúthwyn's mouth dropped open in horror as Lothíriel flushed an angry red. "Elfwine, be nice," she hastily reprimanded the child.

"Why?" Elfwine demanded, surly. "Mama's not nice. I don't want to be nice to her."

Éomund's daughter was unable to come up with an answer, she was so taken aback.

Lothíriel was quicker. "That does it," the queen snapped furiously. "Elfwine, you are coming inside right now—say goodbye to your _Auntie Gúthwyn_."

"No!" Elfwine shrieked, clinging to Gúthwyn's thigh. "I don't _want_ to go with you!"

"Little one—" Gúthwyn began, trying to reason with her nephew. Lothíriel's face was growing steadily more contorted, and Éomund's daughter feared that at any moment she would lose whatever control she had over her rage. Elfwine's temper tantrum was already drawing the attention of the guards on the landing, one of which was Gamling filling in for a sick warrior, and the last thing either of the two women needed was for the animosity between them to be made a public spectacle.

Alas, her efforts were in vain. "You are coming with me whether you like it or not," Lothíriel ground out, reaching forward and starting to pry Elfwine away from Gúthwyn. "Your behavior is atrocious and you _will_ be punished for it, do you understand me?"

"No!" Elfwine yelled again, slapping at his mother's hand. "I won't! You're being mean and I hate you!"

The shrill scream froze both Gúthwyn and Lothíriel into place. Even Elfwine seemed to realize what he had said, and he gulped as he stared apprehensively up at the queen.

"_Get inside right now,_" Lothíriel breathed, her voice so dangerous that Elfwine did not dare argue.

"Yes, Mama," he whispered miserably, several tears trickling down his cheeks. The guards stared as the young prince trudged, his head bowed, towards the doors. Ceorl hesitantly opened one of them for the child, exchanging a confused glance with Gamling.

No sooner had Elfwine been swallowed by the darkness of the Golden Hall than Lothíriel turned on Éomund's daughter. "I suppose you find it amusing to turn my son against me?" she spat, trembling in hatred.

Gúthwyn frantically shook her head. "Lothíriel, I never—"

"The very sight of you sickens me," the queen snarled, taking a step closer to Éomund's daughter. Gúthwyn found that she was moving backwards, edging away from the passionate fury in Lothíriel's glare. "The Valar know how Éomer can tolerate having a disgrace like you under his roof, you slut!"

Gamling and Ceorl's jaws simultaneously dropped to the ground.

"Lothíriel—"

"It is absolutely _beyond me_," Lothíriel seethed, "to understand how you have manipulated everyone to love you, when you yourself have admitted that you are not a virgin—not to mention with your two bastard children! How did you do it? What is so special about you that made my brother enamored of you, even though I warned him that you were a harlot? Why would Imrahil side with you over me, even though I am his own daughter? How is it that Éomer always makes the time to spar with his _baby sister_, even though I have not had a day alone with him in months?"

Éomund's daughter stood stock-still, waves of realization crashing down upon her. Now she knew why Lothíriel hated her. At last she understood why tensions between the two women had never abated, but rather had intensified throughout the years until they were stretched to their breaking point. All this time, all these years… the queen had been jealous of her.

The pieces frantically flew together in Gúthwyn's mind, revealing the painful truth. Lothíriel must have detected the bond between Gúthwyn and Éomer and seen it as a threat, as something Éomer might choose over his wife. From then, everything would have confirmed this initial perception: the days the king had spent at his sister's bedside when she was ill, to the extent that he would skip meals with his queen; the countless free afternoons that Éomer had elected to spend with Gúthwyn, as opposed to Lothíriel; whenever he had slipped into Rohirric with Éomund's daughter, unintentionally excluding his wife. None of these things on their own would merit such envy, but together…

"Lothíriel," Gúthwyn began, at a complete and total loss as to what she would say next, yet knowing that she had to try—

"But of course, none of this was enough for _Auntie Gúthwyn_!" Lothíriel cut her off, her fists clenched and her entire body quivering in rage. "You could not stop at winning over my brothers, my father, and my husband—you had to take my son away from me, you bitch! My own child hates me because of _you_, because of whatever you whispered in his ears when I was not around, because of whatever power it is that you hold over him so that he cannot bear for me to even _embrace_ him!"

"Lothíriel, I would never—" Gúthwyn attempted to speak, horrified by what she was hearing.

"_Liar_!" Lothíriel screamed, her white cheeks glistening as tears cascaded down them. "You have taken everything else from me—could you not be satisfied with knowing that the entire population of Edoras loves you and would die for you without a second thought, but that to them I am just an inconvenience they have to tolerate? With knowing that, given a day off from meetings, my husband would rather spar with you than spend a few hours with me? With knowing that even my own _father_, the only person in Dol Amroth who ever paid attention to me when I was a child, thinks that poor little Gúthwyn needs protection from his evil daughter?"

By now, a small crowd had gathered at the foot of the stairs, its members' ears straining to hear the argument between the queen and the king's sister. Few of them were able to understand what was being said, given the use of the Common Tongue, but those who knew the second language were busily translating to the other astonished listeners. Like Gamling and Ceorl, who were closest to the scene, they were utterly stunned by this sudden outpouring of anger from Éomer's normally silent wife.

"Lothíriel, perhaps we should go—"

"Let them hear!" Lothíriel retorted, putting an end to Gúthwyn's attempt to move out of the public eye. "Let them hear about how you were not content with turning everyone I know away from me, that you had to go after my son as well! _Auntie Gúthwyn_ this, _Auntie Gúthwyn_ that—it is despicable how dependant on you he has become! He loves you so much that he cannot bear to be parted from you for an instant, but the Valar forbid that he have to tolerate the company of his own mother! Why does he loathe me so much, _baby sister_? Who poisoned him against me? Who told him that my sole function in life is to be _mean_ to his precious little _Auntie Gúthwyn_?"

"Lothíriel, please," Gúthwyn begged, determined not to let her brother's wife believe that Elfwine had been manipulated against her, "I did not—"

Lothíriel suddenly closed the gap between them so that their faces were inches apart. "Stay away from my son, you whore," she spat, her voice tightly controlled despite the tears streaming down her cheeks. "Get out of Rohan! You have leeched off my husband's kindness long enough—get out! I never want to see you here again!"

"My lady, be reasonable—" Gamling interrupted, exchanging a shocked glance with Ceorl.

"_Stay out of this_!" Lothíriel ordered shrilly, not even turning around to look at the captain.

Gúthwyn winced as her eardrums throbbed, but the next instant they were positively pounding. "Lothíriel," she tried again, "I—"

"_Get out_!" Lothíriel yelled at her. "What part of _leave _do you not understand? Congratulations, _baby sister_—you have single-handedly managed to alienate everyone I love against me. Now, get out of Edoras and find someone else's life to ruin!"

"_What in Middle-earth is going on_?" a voice suddenly boomed from the darkness of Meduseld.

Both Gúthwyn and Lothíriel froze as Éomer strode out of the Golden Hall, a sobbing Elfwine in his arms. "Sister?" he asked in confusion, glancing back and forth between Éomund's daughter and the still-weeping queen. "Lothíriel?"

When neither of them answered, the king pressed further. "What is wrong?" he demanded, talking loudly so they could hear him over Elfwine's miserable wailing. His eyes roved over the gathering at the bottom of the stairs, taking in the crowd of onlookers who were gaping up at them. "Why were you shouting?"

Gúthwyn suddenly felt as if she, too, would burst into tears. What would Éomer do when he discovered that his wife and his sister had been locked in a power struggle for over half a decade that had spread dissent throughout his home and had even ruined lives? She could not bear to witness the disbelief, the hurt that would spread across his face. "Brother, please, excuse me," she whispered, pressing her palm to her forehead as if she had become ill. Lothíriel's gaze she did not dare meet.

Without another word, she hurried past him and the guards. She had almost successfully retreated to the safety of Meduseld when a hand shot out and grabbed her by the arm, pulling her back into the accusing sunlight. "What happened?" Éomer interrogated her, clearly nothing short of bewildered. "Elfwine came in and said that you and Lothíriel were fighting again. What does he mean, 'again'?"

"E-Excuse me," Gúthwyn repeated, wrenching out of her brother's grasp before he could stop her. "I-I have to go…"

Dodging Éomer's second attempt to physically make her return to the landing, she all but ran into the cool shade of the Golden Hall. Éomer stayed outside. She could hear him questioning the guards, pleading for someone to tell him what had just transpired. Thanking the Valar that Cobryn was not in the throne room, for if he had been all her hopes of privacy would have been dashed, Éomund's daughter hastened towards her chambers.

Once the door closed behind her and she was at last alone, Gúthwyn sat down at her desk and fell into deep thought. A quarter of an hour later, she dried her tears and began to compose the letter she had never wanted to write to Éowyn.


	28. In Defense of the Queen

**Chapter Twenty-Eight**

_Éowyn,_

_The request I am about to make is well overdue, and I pray you will forgive the delay. Something has happened in Edoras that has made it impossible for me to continue living here in good conscience, and I beg that you will let me, Hammel, and Haiweth stay with you in Emyn Arnen for some time. I am terribly sorry, but I cannot elaborate at this point and I do not know how long I will need to be away from Rohan. Please do not write to Éomer and ask him what is going on, for I promise I shall tell you when we next meet in person._

_The sooner you can reply, the better. I hope that you and your husband are well._

_Sincerely, Gúthwyn_

Knowing fully well the magnitude of what she had just done, Éomund's daughter lowered her quill and surveyed the letter. There were several splotches on the parchment that might arouse her sister's concern, and she hoped that the tears would dry long before the messenger reached Éowyn. She expected that the White Lady would worry once she read Gúthwyn's plea, but there was nothing that could be done to rectify this until they saw each other in person—for quite frankly, Gúthwyn did not have the energy to fill so many pages with such bitter words.

No sooner had she set the letter down and buried her head in her hands than there was a sharp knock on the door, startling her so much that she nearly jumped out of her chair. "Who is it?" she asked, dreading the inevitable answer. She was only surprised that it had taken him so long to come.

"It is Éomer," her brother's voice called back impatiently.

Inwardly groaning, Gúthwyn hid her letter in the small desk drawer and said, "Come in."

She barely had time to brace herself before the door burst open and Éomer strode in, his features taut with anxiety. "What happened?" he inquired, bewildered. "Lothíriel is refusing to tell me anything, and Gamling was hardly more informative. He thought that the two of you were having an argument over Elfwine, but there was clearly more to the story that he would not divulge. Please, baby sister, what is going on?"

Gúthwyn shifted uncomfortably in her seat. "Elfwine told Lothíriel that he hated her—not that he meant it, of course, he was just angry because he did not want to go inside—and she became upset."

Éomer frowned. "Why would he say something like that? He should know better."

"I think he was tired," Gúthwyn replied uneasily.

For a long moment, Éomer's dark eyes held hers. "When my son came into the throne room today, not only did he tell me that you and my wife were fighting _again_, but he also said that Lothíriel despised you, and he begged me to put an end to it."

Gúthwyn all but squirmed under her brother's piercing stare.

"I am going to ask you once," Éomer spoke, his voice trembling with the effort it took to remain calm. He approached Gúthwyn's desk, obviously noting the way she suddenly could not meet his eyes. "What is happening between you and Lothíriel?"

Gúthwyn paled: she did not want to be the bearer of bad news that would shatter Éomer's perception of his domestic life. "Nothing," she lied quickly, wondering how on Middle-earth she would be able to get out of _this_ mess and then inform her brother that she was leaving Rohan.

It was the stricken look on her face, moreso than the feeble denial, that gave Éomer the answer he had been praying not to receive. "Tell me right now," the king ordered, his eyes widening, "why Lothíriel was yelling at you, for I suddenly doubt that it was merely about my son."

"She was stressed out," Gúthwyn fibbed wretchedly. "That was all, really."

Éomer's gaze hardened as she spoke, and she knew that this time he could not be fooled. "You are lying," he said flatly.

"Brother—"

"I do not know what it is that you and Lothíriel are so intent on hiding from me, but rest assured that I _will_ get to the bottom of this," Éomer vowed. "With or without your cooperation."

Angrily, he turned around and stalked out of the room. Gúthwyn swallowed and pulled the letter back out, relieved that Éomer had not seen it. How could she explain to him that she was fleeing Rohan to give Elfwine a chance at having a relationship with his mother, to enable Lothíriel to spend more time with her husband? Her brother's family had fallen apart right under his nose—it was up to Éomund's daughter to depart, to let time heal their wounds the way it never had hers.

For Gúthwyn now knew exactly why Lothíriel had come to be the person she was, and why the woman carried such raw hatred and bitter jealousy in her heart. It had started when the queen was just a child: a princess, yes; but as Lady Míriel had said, an unimportant one. Her brothers, sought after by all the women at court, must have been positively glorified—but Lothíriel was secluded with her studies, ignored by the nobility.

Now came Lady Míriel, and the onset of the disastrous chain of events that had led to the death of perhaps Lothíriel's only friend. Shortly after, the princess was despised by everyone in Dol Amroth, lords and ladies and commoners alike. Then Éomer had appeared, offering her love—and an escape. Of course Lothíriel would have expected life in Rohan to be better than the daily torture of navigating Dol Amroth's social circles; after all, how could it be worse?

Gúthwyn did not doubt that these ruminations about Lothíriel's past would be dismissed as mere guesswork if she were to reveal them to anyone, yet she was positive that she was either right in her deductions or closer to the truth than anyone but Lothíriel—and perhaps Imrahil—had ever been. Her conjectures were only strengthened as she added herself to the picture.

Éomund's daughter could still recall her arrival into Lothíriel's life, and indeed was able to scrutinize every detail of it. She had been carrying Haiweth in her arms when Éomer introduced her to his future wife. The queen would have formed the initial impression that Gúthwyn had disgraced herself, one that was seemingly confirmed by the king's reticence when questioned about the matter. Lothíriel's strict sense of propriety would forbid her from ever being accepting of this, leaving her disinclined to so much as address the other woman cordially.

Then the queen had made her home in Rohan, residing in the Golden Hall, a place where she was constantly rubbing elbows with Éomund's daughter. Gúthwyn could only imagine Lothíriel's astonishment, not to mention suspicion, when she discovered that her husband's sister was tolerated, even well-liked, by the people of Edoras. What an opinion Lothíriel must have formed of the Rohirric populace, an opinion that would have already been tainted by her experiences in Dol Amroth!

To make matters worse, Lothíriel had soon learned that she was not the only woman close to Éomer's heart. Gúthwyn remembered how fragile she herself had been after the War of the Ring, how painfully the emotional and physical scars of her time in Mordor had taken their toll. Whenever her health had faltered—occasionally for weeks on end—Éomer had been a constant at her bedside, for he was determined to ensure that she lacked nothing. The queen would not have understood this. Had anyone stayed with Lothíriel for so long when she was sick? It was doubtful.

In all fairness, Gúthwyn thought, Éomer would never intentionally snub his wife. However, as much as she loved her brother, he was not the most observant man in Middle-earth. It was easy to see how he might have overlooked Lothíriel's increasing unhappiness, just as he had been oblivious to the sheer terror with which Gúthwyn had anticipated her marriage to Elphir.

Again, Éomund's daughter turned to the letter. The finality of the words she had written on the page had not yet sunk in. She was going to leave Rohan—the land she loved above all others, the only place she had ever called home—and live with Borogor's killer. She suspected that her mind was refusing to accept the arrangements her pen had made, and had numbed her heart to the agony she knew she would eventually suffer.

Half an hour later, Gúthwyn was still sitting at her desk and staring blankly at its surface when the door flew open. Éomer burst into the room, his eyes glittering black with rage and his face a furious shade of red. He slammed the door shut so forcefully that the walls of her quarters shook.

"I just found Cobryn," he announced harshly. "Unlike you, he was very willing to give me the answers I was looking for."

All the color drained from Gúthwyn's cheeks, and she raised a trembling hand to her mouth.

"Lothíriel is in our chambers right now," Éomer continued, his voice strangled, "and I cannot return there because if I do, I will murder her."

"Brother, please, she—"

"Stop it!" Éomer roared at her, banging his fist against the side of her wardrobe. "Do not dare come to her defense!"

"Éomer, I beg you—"

"_Enough!_" Éomer yelled, his features contorted in disgust. Gúthwyn swallowed, cringing away from his anger. "Cobryn informs me that this has been going on for _years_, Gúthwyn, _years_! Why did you say nothing to me? Why did you not tell me that my wife has been spreading gossip about you to the women in Edoras, that she insults you at any chance she gets?"

"I-I did not want to hurt you…" Gúthwyn whispered, trailing off under Éomer's ferocious stare.

"For Eru's sake," the king fumed, "I wish you would think of yourself for once in your life! After all Lothíriel has done to you—allowing Amrothos to practically _rape_ you…" He was so angry that he was actually shaking; the sound of his fist slamming into the wardrobe reverberated throughout the room again. "How can you possibly believe that her behavior was acceptable? Why would you not alert me immediately?"

"I-I was trying to help Elfwine," Gúthwyn murmured to her lap.

"You were trying to _help_ Elfwine?" Éomer echoed indignantly. "How, baby sister, does letting Lothíriel treat you so horribly that my son was begging for me to make it stop _help_ him?"

"I knew that if I told you, you would hate her," Gúthwyn explained miserably, "and Elfwine should not have to grow up in a home where there is such strife between the parents."

For a long moment, Éomer stared at her. Then he laughed, hollowly. "Too late for that," he spat bitterly. "The very thought of her"—his fingers curled—"causes me to long for my sword. All the things she has done," he burst out suddenly, "are actions befitting a monster, not the woman I married! Her giving that sheet to you when you were kind enough to do her laundry was a deed nothing short of disgusting. I cannot tell you how sickened I felt when Cobryn was listing but _some _of the taunts she has used against you, when he was reciting but a _few_ of the rumors she has started about you!"

He paused, breathing heavily, at which point his eyes fell upon Gúthwyn's desk. "To whom are you writing?" he inquired, seemingly in an attempt to calm himself down.

"Éowyn," Gúthwyn replied, dreading what she was about to say. "I… I have requested her permission to reside in Ithilien for some time."

It was a long time before Éomer spoke. At first he simply stood there, his expression laced with shock and dismay. Gúthwyn felt awful as she beheld her brother, knowing that his feelings on the matter were perhaps as strong as her own. The very air was palpable with his silent anguish.

"You… what?" the king finally asked, stunned.

Gúthwyn could barely stand to look at him. "I-I think it would be best if I leave Rohan for awhile."

"Absolutely not!" Éomer barked, the finality of her words jolting him to his senses. "There is no reason for that. You have done nothing wrong. I will not have you exiling yourself from your home as if you were the one who had committed such atrocities! If anything, I should send Lothíriel away!"

Gúthwyn shook her head. "I am giving this letter to a messenger as soon as we are done talking. Your wife is right: I have spent too long here. Hammel, Haiweth, and I have relied too much on your graciousness. Besides," she added, for Éomer was opening his mouth to hotheadedly protest, "Éowyn has often mentioned that she would like for me to visit, and it upsets her that I have yet to accept any of the numerous open invitations she has given me. I expect she will be pleased when she discovers that at last I intend to sojourn with her."

"Do not do this to yourself, baby sister," Éomer urgently implored her, stricken. "I know you love Rohan and our people; it is no secret to me that you want to spend the rest of your life here. Whatever my wife has told you is a lie. I am more than willing to have you and the children remain in Meduseld until the end of your days, and should I die before you Elfwine shall permit the same. Furthermore, until now you have never expressed any interest in traveling to Ithilien—regardless of how many times Éowyn has pressed you to come. You should not uproot yourself because you think it would be best for others!"

"But it _is_ best," Gúthwyn gently corrected him. "Lothíriel and Elfwine have little to no relationship with each other, and it grieves me to see such distance between mother and son. As long as I am around, Elfwine will prefer my company to hers; I cannot let that continue. Once I am gone, he and Lothíriel will be able to spend more time together. Lothíriel, also, will be far more at ease in her home during my absence."

"Damn Lothíriel!" Éomer exploded, furious again. "Why are you so concerned about her comfort? Why do you insist on rewarding her for her disgrace?"

"Because, Éomer, she is acting out of jealousy!" Gúthwyn exclaimed. "She believes I have turned Elfwine against her, and she thinks that you care more about me than you do her!"

"That is ridiculous," Éomer snapped. "I loved her just as much as you. Whatever misconceived notions of inferiority she has do not suffice as an excuse for her appalling behavior! She has half the women in Edoras gossiping about how you are a harlot, and she convinced Elphir of the same—completely sabotaging all the effort her father and I had put into the negotiations!"

"She does not actually realize that I am not offering my services to all the men in Edoras," Gúthwyn argued; "she does not think she is lying. You remember how she once told you that she saw Cobryn entering my chambers in the dead of night, and never returning? She also claims that she has overheard me say that I am not a virgin. I would not acknowledge such a topic in front of her, but a couple of times we have discussed H-Haldor when we assumed she was asleep. What if she was not? If so, what evidence would there be to assure her otherwise?"

"She should have spoken to me about her suspicions, instead of relaying them to the entire population of Edoras!" Éomer blustered angrily.

"Why would she?" Gúthwyn asked. "You once mentioned that she had inquired about the talk she had heard of my disappearance from Rohan, but that you had brushed her off and only given a vague answer. I expect she thought that you would be just as unforthcoming, perhaps even angry, if she questioned you about my purity."

"I cannot believe you are defending her," Éomer remarked in revulsion. "What is wrong with you?"

"Éomer, please, I am just trying to make you understand why I must depart," Gúthwyn begged. "When you heard her yelling at me, could you not discern what she was saying? She truly does believe that I have stolen you, Elfwine, and even her father away from her. Envy has dictated her treatment of me for years, nothing else. If I leave Rohan, she will be able to spend more time with you and Elfwine, and she shall not feel so bitter towards me."

"Do you really think that just by running off to Ithilien, the mess of this situation will simply vanish into thin air?" Éomer demanded. "I will never be able to look at my wife, nor love her, the same way again. I have no desire to 'spend more time with her,' nor shall Elfwine when he realizes that you have left on her account. Your departure will make Lothíriel less welcome in the Golden Hall than ever before, of that I am certain."

"Brother, I know that you are angry," Gúthwyn began, "but I beseech you to keep Elfwine's interests at heart. He is only five; he will soon forget that this ever happened, and then your coldness towards Lothíriel will set a dangerous example for him. Please, I beg you—I love my nephew as if he were my own child, and I could not bear for him to be so affected by what transpired today."

Éomer's mouth dropped open. "Let me get this straight," he at length said: "you want me to pretend that this never occurred, to act as if I had never found out that my wife is a scheming and conniving woman who would stop at nothing to ruin my baby sister's reputation? And you have some mistaken idea that this will help my son?"

"Is it fair to Elfwine now, when he comes to hate his own mother before his sixth birthday?" Gúthwyn retorted.

"He has good reason to loathe her!" Éomer cried.

"A child should never despise their parents," Gúthwyn staunchly asserted. "I am leaving Rohan whether you want me to or not, brother, and I am doing it so that Elfwine and Lothíriel will be able to heal their relationship—and perhaps even forge a bond between them. All I ask is that you treat your wife decently when your son is around. Please."

For a long time, Éomer was quiet. Before Gúthwyn's eyes he appeared to age several years, his forehead wrinkling as he furrowed his brow and his shoulders slumping as if the weight of the world were upon them. It was a sorry sight. More than ever, Éomund's daughter regretted that her struggle with Lothíriel had come to this. If it were up to her, her brother would have been kept happily in the dark for the rest of his life.

Finally, Éomer sighed. At length he said, "If your heart is set on living in Ithilien, I cannot stop you, despite my wanting you to remain here. I will not promise to act cordially around Lothíriel, for though you seem to have a number of excuses for her behavior I am not so forgiving. Yet for Elfwine's sake, I will make the attempt, even if I curse her with every breath of false politeness."

Gúthwyn gave a sad smile. "Thank you, brother," she spoke, getting to her feet and embracing him. "And thank you so much for all you have done for me and the children over the years. It is a debt I can never hope to repay."

Éomer's arms wrapped tightly around her, but even when breathing became difficult Gúthwyn did not let go. "There is nothing to repay," Éomer whispered hoarsely. "It has been a blessing to have you with us. Are you sure I cannot convince you to stay?"

Gúthwyn nodded. "Positive," she choked out.

Éomer's grip on her became even more pronounced. "Then come home soon," he told her fiercely. "Elfwine and I will miss you every day."

At the thought of her nephew, Gúthwyn's throat tightened. "D-Do not tell him right now," she said pleadingly. "I-I will do it when I hear back from Éowyn… And p-please, Éomer, do not write to our sister about this. I-I shall give her the whole story when I see her…"

"Of course," Éomer agreed.

"A-And also," Gúthwyn added, suddenly remembering something important, "do not t-tell Imrahil about w-w-why Elphir and I are no longer b-betrothed… I-I must take care of that on my own." By 'take care of,' of course, she meant 'never discuss it again'—but Éomer did not have to know that.

"You have my word," Éomer swore, his voice sounding strangled.

As the two siblings pulled apart, Gúthwyn was astounded to see that her brother was blinking rapidly in the all-too-familiar motions of someone trying to conceal their tears. She did not comment, however, knowing that it would embarrass him—and if she looked at him for too long, she herself would start crying.

"I will speak to some of the men," Éomer muttered, "to see if I can put together an escort to Emyn Arnen for you."

Gúthwyn thanked him wholeheartedly, though a shudder came over her as images of Ithilien flashed through her mind. _Please,_ she prayed to the Valar, _let my stay there be only temporary._

Naturally, the Valar were not listening.


	29. Haiweth's Outburst

**Chapter Twenty-Nine**

In the weeks after Gúthwyn and Lothíriel's public argument, life in the Golden Hall was strained for its occupants. Anyone entering Meduseld could feel the tension in the air, the brooding hatred that seethed and crackled throughout the building. Once word got out that the king had discovered what all of his subjects had known for years, visitors to Éomer visibly slouched with guilt. Their eyes would dart around the throne room as if searching for a raging queen, and when inevitably they did not see her—for Lothíriel was all but refusing to leave her chambers—only then would their posture relax.

If guests felt ill at ease, their discomfort was nothing compared to the storm clouds hanging over the heads of the royal family. It was well known amongst the servants that the king and queen had ceased to sleep in the same bed. Since the incident, Éomer had only been in his chambers long enough to collect his things and inform his wife that he could not bear to be around her in private. He had then moved into Théodred's room and now showed no signs of returning to his own in the near future.

Lothíriel accepted this punishment without a word of protest. Nor did she complain when her husband's efforts at polite conversation evanesced the minute her son was out of earshot, though Gúthwyn often saw her eyes filling with tears whenever a dark glare from Éomer effectively silenced any of her attempts to speak with him. She seemed to be trying to make her presence in the Golden Hall as inoffensive as possible, and rarely ventured from her chambers unless for meals or council sessions.

Éomund's daughter could not help but feel sorry for Lothíriel. Once a powerful rival and now utterly broken, the queen currently residing in Meduseld was a mere ghost of her former self. Yet Gúthwyn's regret, such as it was, could not begin to mend the unbridgeable gap between the two women. For as long as she remained in Rohan, there was no chance of reconciliation.

Lothíriel's reputation had not only suffered at home, but in public as well. After those bearing witness to her outburst had spread the tale throughout the entire city—which they apparently did quite enthusiastically, given that everyone had heard about it by the next morning—it was officially agreed that the queen's accusations against the king's sister were completely unfounded and unreasonable. Whenever Éomund's daughter left her home in the first few days following the incident, swarms of civilians rushed over to assure her that they had not believed Lothíriel's claims for an instant.

As far as Gúthwyn could tell, however, few people in Edoras were aware that the departure of the king's sister was imminent. Éomer, of course, sought daily opportunities to attempt to sway her otherwise; Cobryn, obviously, she could never keep a secret from, though she faced just as much disapproval from him as she did from her brother; and then there was Lothíriel, to whom Éomer had directed several snappish remarks about the matter. Everyone else, however, was kept in the dark, per Gúthwyn's instruction not to be told until she heard from Éowyn.

The little time Éomund's daughter had left in Rohan was now bittersweet, tainted by the realization that soon the training grounds and the stables and her people would be but memories. She could scarcely believe that the Valar would play such a cruel joke on her, that they would spend years tormenting her with longing for her home and then yank her life out from under her barely a decade later. Deep down, she knew that she had brought this upon herself: she could easily have lingered in Edoras, forever a thorn in Lothíriel's side. Yet such stubbornness was fair to neither the queen nor Elfwine, and therefore Gúthwyn had to go.

Nevertheless, when a messenger from Ithilien at last came bearing a letter addressed to her, she could not help but tremble as she took it. Fully conscious that she was holding nothing short of utter misery in the palm of her hand, she retreated to her chambers—all the while avoiding Éomer's concerned gaze—and slowly unsealed the parchment.

Éowyn's response was short, and had clearly been hastily written.

_Gúthwyn,_

_Of course you, Hammel, and Haiweth may dwell in Emyn Arnen. (So may Cobryn, for I suspect that he might wish to accompany you.) Our house is open to you for as long as you wish. You need never ask; I have only been waiting for you to name the date._

_That aside, the nature of your request was most alarming, and I pray that no harm has befallen you. Please write back as soon as possible and, at the very least, confirm this._

_Éowyn_

Before her courage waned, Gúthwyn withdrew a piece of parchment from her desk and composed a brief reply.

_Éowyn,_

_A thousand thanks for your kindness. I shall be leaving Rohan as soon as possible—within two weeks, if the necessary arrangements can be made in time. You need not worry about sending an escort, for Éomer has assured me that he will see to the matter himself. I shall send word ahead when I depart from Edoras, so that my arrival will not catch you off-guard._

_Take comfort in knowing that I have suffered no physical ailments, and that I have numbed myself to any emotional pain that I might feel upon my departure from home. I will explain when I next see you._

_Sincerely, Gúthwyn_

Sighing, Éomund's daughter reread what she had written. It would suffice until she reached Ithilien, at which point Éowyn would surely grill her. It was a story she was not looking forward to telling, especially if she were forced to do so when Faramir—Lothíriel's cousin—was in the same room. Her sister would be furious; she would undoubtedly send a letter to Éomer, demanding restitution on Gúthwyn's behalf.

A knock on the door yanked her from her thoughts. Hoping it was not Éomer, Gúthwyn swallowed and called, "Come in."

Much to her relief, the person intruding upon her solitude turned out to be Cobryn. He greeted her and then sat down in the nearest chair, having long ago done away with waiting for an invitation.

Gúthwyn smiled to see him fix her with a questioning gaze. "I should have expected you would be quick to visit after the messenger delivered this letter in your presence."

Cobryn shrugged unabashedly, his brown eyes utterly unapologetic. "I figured you would not mind my inquisitiveness."

"I rarely do," Gúthwyn replied, though she frequently pretended otherwise. In reality she did not know what she had done to deserve a friend such as Cobryn, and she probably did not thank the Valar for him often enough. "What have you to inquire about today?"

Cobryn gestured towards the letters on her desk. "I take it Éowyn is already preparing for your arrival," he said, leaning back in the chair.

Gúthwyn nodded. "She worries for me, but I have sworn to explain everything once I see her."

Exhaling, Cobryn laced his fingers together and gave Éomund's daughter a sharp look. "Do you still believe you are doing the right thing in leaving your home?"

"Cobryn, you do not trust me because you are concerned with only my welfare," Gúthwyn replied patiently. "If I indeed considered no other but myself, my actions would be entirely in the wrong. Yet I must have a care for my brother and my nephew, as well."

"I do not want to see you suffer," Cobryn told her earnestly, sighing. This was becoming an all too familiar discussion for the two of them. "Long have you put your family's interests ahead of your own—and see what has happened because of it. You deserve to be selfish. For the Valar's sake, it is practically your right after everything you have been through. Éomer and Elfwine can take care of themselves; and besides, both of them have begged you to remain in Rohan."

"Elfwine is still unaware of my intentions," Gúthwyn quickly corrected her friend.

"For now," Cobryn pointed out. "Once he finds out, I would be shocked if he did not plead with you to stay. I confess I wish him success."

Gúthwyn shook her head. "I will not allow that," she answered firmly. "My mind is set, if not my heart; I have made my decision, and despite your attempts to convince me otherwise I shall not look back. A month from today, I will be living in Ithilien."

"Do you truly desire that?" Cobryn asked, abruptly changing tack. "To reside under the same roof as Faramir?"

Wincing, Éomund's daughter remarked, "I can assure you I have devoted much thought to this. In fact, I believe my closeness to Éowyn's husband will take a greater toll on me than my distance from home—but it is a hardship I shall have to endure. Please," she begged, for Cobryn had opened his mouth to capitalize on this weakness, "do not try to change my mind. You cannot sway me. I will tell Hammel, Haiweth, and…"—she swallowed—"Elfwine tonight."

"You have nothing to gain from this," Cobryn warned her sternly, looking distinctly disgruntled that he had not even come close to winning their argument.

"Not I," Gúthwyn retorted, with all the assurance of someone utterly in the right, "but my nephew does."

With that, she folded her letter to Éowyn and reached for the wax to seal its contents.

* * *

><p>For all her bravado when questioned by Cobryn, dinner soon came and went without Gúthwyn informing Hammel, Haiweth, or Elfwine of her plans. She had discussed them at length, of course, with Éomer; her brother's attempts at convincing her to stay were just as futile as Cobryn's. Yet to her children and her nephew she had said not a word, and she was forced to attribute this reticence to cowardice on her part.<p>

Dinner had been early, so the sky was still light when Éomund's daughter ventured outside to clear her thoughts. Once on the landing she nodded at Gamling, who was finishing the last half-hour of his post alone. Although during the day two guards were required to man the entrance to the Golden Hall, in the evening this number was reduced to one. Gamling was now filling in for Ceorl, who had apparently caught the same illness as Eanwulf. In a few minutes the captain would retire for the evening, leaving the doors to Meduseld unattended. This was of no concern to the royal family: the gates to the city were ceaselessly observed, and the sentinels on duty had a clear view of the main road from the watchtower to ensure that there was no suspicious activity afoot.

Gúthwyn was close friends with these sentinels, which was perhaps why Éomer had never been told about her numerous nocturnal wanderings. She had sat out on the landing so frequently, shivering from her terrible dreams, that the guards probably assumed it was a quirky habit and thought it harmless. It appeared that not one of them had brought the issue up with Éomer, not even after those nights when she was joined by Legolas. Éomund's daughter wondered what she would do in Ithilien, for she doubted Éowyn would be as blind to her comings and goings as Éomer.

Taking a deep breath to calm her nerves, Éomund's daughter gazed out across the city to the plains beyond. Her heart stirred with a longing so painful that she almost wept: this was her home, and yet in a couple of weeks she would be living in self-imposed exile. She remembered those endless years of slavery, how every night she had prayed that the Valar would have pity on her and let her return to Rohan. At last they had granted her wish, yet now they were cruelly stripping her of her happiness.

_I can always come back,_ she reassured herself, wiping her eyes. _Not soon, but someday._

"My lady?"

Starting, Gúthwyn turned around and saw Gamling watching her, an uncomfortable expression on his face. "Yes?" she asked, confused. Had he noticed that she was upset? She flushed at the thought.

Gamling seemed reluctant to speak. Éomund's daughter received the impression that it had taken him several minutes to work up the courage to address her in the first place, though she knew not why.

"Queen Lothíriel said something about you," Gamling began, looking nothing short of mortified, "when the two of you were arguing…"

Gúthwyn frowned, still not understanding. "There was much that she accused me of," she pointed out, albeit not unkindly.

The captain of the guard shifted awkwardly on his feet. "She claimed that you had… that you had admitted you were not a virgin."

A cold, sinking feeling settled into Gúthwyn's gut; simultaneously her cheeks drained of color, and her entire body stiffened. Now she knew what was bothering Gamling. How many times had the captain risen to her defense at these rumors, had he countered indignantly whenever her innocence was called into question? Lothíriel's declaration had been a stunning blow, calling his trust of Éomund's daughter into question and making him wonder if all along he had been deceived.

"Is this true?" Gamling asked, looking straight into Gúthwyn's eyes. "I-I swore Ceorl to silence about the matter until I knew for certain…"

There was one thing commonly said about the Rohirrim: never were they dishonest, and thus it was almost impossible to lie to them and escape detection. Gúthwyn swallowed, caught between a rock and a hard place. If she said nothing, which was her instinct, Gamling would assume the worst. If she tried to convince him that Lothíriel was simply attempting to sow another rumor, he would know that she was not telling the truth—and then would assume the worst. But if she explained what had actually happened…

Gamling was waiting for an answer, his brow furrowing as the seconds lengthened and Gúthwyn did not respond. "My lady?" he inquired slowly.

Éomund's daughter folded her arms across her stomach. "I was raped," she said dully, "when I was sixteen."

Gamling's eyes widened in horror and disgust, both of which barely registered in her numb mind. "He commanded Sauron's army," she continued; "I had no choice. I never wanted it. I never asked for it."

She could see her friend struggling to comprehend this terrible truth, this admission of her impurity and the reason behind it. "Is he—is that bastard still alive?" he finally choked out, his breathing shallow with hatred.

"I killed him," Gúthwyn replied heavily. "I killed him less than a week before I returned to Rohan. He cannot touch me anymore."

Gamling could not speak for loathing; he opened and closed his mouth several times, casting around for something to say that would acknowledge the severity of Haldor's crime.

"Please," she said quietly, "do not tell anyone. I just want to be able to forget about him. Can I trust you?"

"You have my word," Gamling swore vehemently, every syllable quivering in revulsion. "Gúthwyn, I am so—"

"Thank you," Éomund's daughter cut him off. "That is all I need." She walked back towards the doors leading into Meduseld, acknowledging the captain with a sad smile. "Goodnight, Gamling."

"Goodnight," she heard the warrior murmur as she entered the Golden Hall, and his voice was choked with tears.

* * *

><p>A few minutes after her encounter with Gamling, Gúthwyn slowed her walk to a stop in front of Haiweth's door. Having just relived one of the most painful memories of her life in front of the captain of the guard, she had shamed herself into summoning the courage to break the news of their departure to her child.<p>

_Knock, knock._ "Haiweth?"

"Come in," Haiweth called an instant later. The distracted tone of voice meant that the girl was working on a new picture. Gúthwyn smiled at this, and gently pushed open the door.

"Hello, little one," she greeted Haiweth, stepping inside and approaching the child's small desk. "What are you drawing?"

"A dress," Haiweth explained, showing Éomund's daughter. As usual, the design was exquisite—not gaudy, like many of the fashions that the women of Dol Amroth were inclined to wear, but elegant and gorgeous in a homage to something that Queen Arwen, perhaps, might don for an important ceremony.

"It is beautiful," Gúthwyn replied, truthfully. "If I am ever in need of a new outfit, I should ask you to sketch one for the dressmaker."

Haiweth smiled at the compliment, her golden curls catching the light from the candle as she bent her head to critically examine her work. Not for the first time, Gúthwyn was struck by how beautiful the girl had become. At the age of fourteen, Haiweth was tall, thin, and graceful; her prettiness far excelled anything Éomund's daughter could ever be. She even had the beginnings of a figure, which alarmed Gúthwyn and made her vow to be more protective in the future. Haiweth's most striking feature, however, was her eyes, colored a soft grey that captivated the beholder. In a few years, Gúthwyn knew, she would have admirers by the dozen.

But now was not that time. "Haiweth," Gúthwyn said seriously, lowering herself into a spare chair near the desk, "there is something I must tell you."

Haiweth, sensing urgency, lowered her quill. "What is it?" she asked.

"Two weeks from today, we are leaving Rohan," Gúthwyn announced, cringing as she spoke.

Haiweth did not appear distraught, as Gúthwyn had expected her to be, in the least; rather, she was merely contemplative. "Why?" she asked, glancing at Éomund's daughter in bewilderment.

Briefly, Gúthwyn explained her conflict with Lothíriel, saying only that the queen's relationship with her family was in danger and that Elfwine needed to spend more time with his mother.

"I never liked Lothíriel," Haiweth remarked simply when Gúthwyn had finished. "She is always angry at me, even though I have not done anything wrong."

"She thinks that you are an indiscretion of mine," Gúthwyn replied quietly. "It has nothing to do with your behavior."

"An indiscretion?" Haiweth echoed, confused.

Gúthwyn shook her head. "Never mind, little one," she responded. "What matters is that we cannot reside in Rohan for the time being."

"Then where will we go?" Haiweth wanted to know.

"I have written to Éowyn," Gúthwyn said, "and she has kindly agreed to take us in."

Haiweth's eyes lit up. "We are going to stay in Emyn Arnen?" she demanded eagerly.

Taken aback—and slightly stung—by this reaction, it was a moment before Gúthwyn collected herself enough to answer. "Yes, we are."

Looking as if her wildest dreams had come true, Haiweth straightened and asked, "Is Emyn Arnen part of Gondor?"

Gúthwyn nodded. "It is. Indeed, Ithilien is considered the loveliest of Gondor's provinces."

"Is it close to Minas Tirith?" Haiweth pressed her.

"I believe so," Gúthwyn said, hazarding a guess. Geography was not her strongest suit.

Haiweth gasped in delight. "Can we visit Minas Tirith? Please?"

"Should Éowyn and Faramir choose to do so," Gúthwyn replied, hurt. "Really, Haiweth, are you not at all upset about moving?"

Too late, Haiweth realized how her jubilance was affecting the woman beside her. "Of course I am," she hastened to say—but her eyes could not hide the fact that she was lying. Her betrayal in this regard cut Gúthwyn to the very core.

"What about my home is so abhorrent to you?" Éomund's daughter asked quietly, her heart aching.

Haiweth hesitated, picking up her quill and fiddling with it. She tipped the writing instrument from side to side, as if she were weighing the benefits of speaking versus remaining quiet. "Rohan is very… boring," she at last confessed, sighing.

"Boring?" Gúthwyn echoed, shocked. "How can it possibly be boring?"

"There is nothing to do here," Haiweth complained. "All anyone cares about is horses and fighting. I hate it! Lady Éowyn was lucky to escape when she could."

The girl's sudden outburst forced the air out of Gúthwyn's lungs, leaving her breathless with dismay. "_Escape_?" she repeated indignantly, gaping at Haiweth like she had never seen the child before. "Edoras is so terrible a city that you need to _escape_ from it?"

"Gúthwyn, I do not belong here!" Haiweth cried. "I tolerate it because I have to, but there is nothing about this place that I like! I would much rather live in Gondor, where they are more…" She trailed off suddenly, reluctant to continue. It was obvious, however, what she could have said: _civilized. Educated. Proper._

"By the Valar," Gúthwyn murmured, sickened. At last, she understood. "You actually admire those awful Dol Amroth women! You want to be like them!"

"What was so horrible about them?" Haiweth retorted. "I know they gossiped, but they also talked about fashion and plays—I have never even seen a play! Alphros says that there is always something happening in Dol Amroth, and that he never lacks anything to do. I bet it is the same way in Minas Tirith, where I _could_ have gone to be Queen Arwen's attendant if only you had let me!"

"Haiweth, listen to yourself!" Gúthwyn cried, mortified. "Do you have any idea how shallow you sound?"

"Just because _your_ idea of fun is not the same as mine, that does not make me shallow!" Haiweth exclaimed angrily. "You were so busy hating the Dol Amroth women that you never realized how talented most of them were! They all knew how to sing and dance and draw and play instruments!"

"If you desire to live amongst such vapid individuals as the members of the Dol Amroth court," Gúthwyn said tightly, "then I hope you come to your senses before it is too late."

"What would you want me to do, then?" Haiweth asked crossly. "Learn how to use a _sword_? What good is that going to do me? How is that ever going to help me find a husband?"

Gúthwyn's mouth dropped open: she could not believe what she was hearing. "You think of _husbands_ now?" she interrogated the child, shocked. "Who has so poisoned your mind?"

"My mind is not poisoned," Haiweth snapped. "All of the girls I play with are going to have husbands in a few years, and children not long after. Excuse me for assuming that at some point in my life I will be married as well!"

"Why would you ever _want_ to wed another?" Gúthwyn cried, trembling at the very idea. "I do not have a husband, and I am perfectly content without one!"

"You do not get it," Haiweth ground out through clenched teeth. "I am nothing like you, Gúthwyn, and the sooner you understand that the better it will be for both of us! I hate Rohan, and I could care less about horses and swords! I want to live in Gondor, and I want to be like Éowyn when I grow up—not you! You always assume that I cannot enjoy something because you do not, and you are always wrong. I am sick of it!"

Gúthwyn abruptly stood up. "I can see I was mistaken to believe you would even be remotely upset about leaving Edoras," she said coldly. "I pray that Ithilien meets your every expectation, and that Éowyn can help you become the person you want to be—for clearly I have only been a hindrance to your aspirations, whatever they may be. But for your information, Haiweth, my sister was once renowned for her abilities with a sword. She met her husband while she was in the Houses of Healing, recovering from her wounds after killing the Witch-king of Angmar. Surely you have not forgotten that."

Furiously, she made to storm out of the room. When she was at the door, however, she thought of something and turned around. "By the way," she spoke, her hands curling into fists, "should you choose to marry, your husband will have utter dominion over you. In other words, you shall have to service him in bed for the rest of your life. Do you know what that means?"

"No," Haiweth admitted after a pause.

"Good," Gúthwyn spat, her insides curling as she remembered the nights she had spent with Haldor. "I hope you never find out."

Without giving Haiweth a chance to respond, Éomund's daughter left the room.

_Over my dead body will any child of mine enter into such slavery_, she vowed.


	30. Preparations

**Chapter Thirty**

The following day Gúthwyn delivered the same news to Hammel, who had gone to bed early the night before and was asleep before she had the chance to see him. Although this conversation lacked the horrifying revelations that Haiweth's reaction had provoked, the seventeen-year-old was clearly upset about leaving Rohan and wasted no time in blaming Éomund's daughter for their predicament.

"If you were not such a pushover," he seethed, glaring at Gúthwyn from where he was sitting rigidly in his desk chair, "we would not have to uproot our lives and move into a _forest_!"

"Emyn Arnen is hills," Gúthwyn replied wearily, leaning against the doorframe. "Not woods." At least, she hoped there were not many trees—it would be too stark a reminder of her last day with Borogor.

Hammel sent her a withering look as if to ask, _What is the difference?_ "You think you are being _noble_," he hissed, "when in fact you are being weak! Are you really stupid enough to think that Lothíriel will magically _bond_ with Elfwine in your absence?" He gave a contemptuous snort.

"I have faith," Gúthwyn answered sharply, stung by his rudeness, "unjustified though it may seem. And do not insult me! Is this what the sacrifices I made for you have earned me?"

There was a long pause in which each of them stared at the other, their breathing ragged and the memories swirling with tension between them.

"Leave me alone," Hammel finally snapped, dismissively turning his back on her.

Trying though that encounter had been, Éomund's daughter was positively dreading her inevitable discussion with Elfwine. He was placed in her care at the onset of noon, but she let the hours melt away as they played together and was unable to work up the courage to inform her nephew that his life was about to be drastically altered.

When orange streaks from the sun began dipping into the horizon, however, she had no other choice.

"Auntie Gúthwyn, what's _wrong_?" Elfwine demanded as they approached the steps to the Golden Hall. They were about to retire for the evening, having completed several rigorous games of tag with the other children of the city. "You aren't happy today! I don't like it. What's going on?"

Gúthwyn slowed to a stop before the stairs, sighing heavily. "Sit down, little one," she murmured, meeting his worried gaze. "There is something I have to tell you."

Elfwine obligingly lowered himself onto a step, looking perturbed. "What is it, Auntie Gúthwyn?" he asked as she knelt beside him. "Are you okay?"

"I am fine," Éomund's daughter assured her nephew, summoning every ounce of willpower in her body to keep herself from weeping. "But there is something you must know…"

"What?" Elfwine pressed her when she faltered, crowding in close so that she could look nowhere else but at him. "What is it?"

"Little one, I am… I am going away in two weeks."

Elfwine frowned. "Going away?" he repeated suspiciously, the words an unsavory taste on his tongue. "What do you mean? Going away where?"

"I am going to live with Auntie Éowyn and Uncle Faramir," Gúthwyn explained, biting the insides of her cheek to check the burning lump in her throat.

"But you don't like Faramir," Elfwine reminded her, narrowing his eyes. "Why are you going there?"

"Because… my stay in Rohan has come to an end," Gúthwyn whispered, swallowing.

"I don't understand, Auntie Gúthwyn," Elfwine said, confused. "What do you mean?"

"When I leave here, I will not be coming back for a long time," Gúthwyn elaborated, blinking rapidly to pre-empt any tears that might contrive to slip down her cheeks.

"A week?" Elfwine gasped, his eyes widening. "You're going away for a whole _week_?"

Gúthwyn would have given anything in Middle-earth, from Smaug's great treasure hoard to the One Ring itself, to not have had to correct her nephew. Mustering her courage, of which it seemed more was required for this task than for any battle she had ever joined, she said quietly, "Perhaps a year, little one—or even longer," she admitted.

It took a few seconds for the magnitude of Gúthwyn's statement to sink in. As it did, Elfwine's face slowly crumpled until it was positively screwed up in misery, a transformation so horrible to watch that Éomund's daughter suddenly loathed herself for being its cause.

Her nephew's scream was as heart-rending as it was ear-shattering. "Auntie Gúthwyn, you can't go!" Elfwine shrieked, launching himself at her. Before his hands had even reached her, he was sobbing. "You _promised_ you wouldn't go away! You _promised_!"

He latched onto Gúthwyn and clutched at her as though he could hold her in that way forever, forcing her to remain in Edoras for all eternity.

"I am so sorry, little one," Gúthwyn whispered, embracing him tightly.

"_No!_" Elfwine yelled an instant later, wrenching himself out of her grasp. "I won't let you go!"

He started scrambling up the stairs, half-crawling and half-running. "_Papa!_" he bawled, tears rolling down his cheeks and splattering onto the steps below him. "_Papa!_"

"Elfwine, be careful!" Gúthwyn gasped, leaping to her feet and hovering protectively behind him.

Aside from the attention of the guards, who were uncomfortable beholders of the scene, the commotion that the king's heir was making drew the attention of the queen, who rushed out onto the landing and frantically demanded to know what was wrong. "What did he do?" Lothíriel asked the other woman, a forced change from _What did _you _do?_

Looking up at his mother, Elfwine stiffened. He then glanced back at Gúthwyn. Éomund's daughter cringed when she saw the connection form in her nephew's eyes, but before she could say anything it was too late. "_You _told Auntie Gúthwyn to go away!" he accused Lothíriel, who blanched in response. "I _hate_ you! You're the worst mama _ever_! You're mean to Auntie Gúthwyn all the time and now you're making her go away and _I won't let you_!"

"Elfwine, no!" Gúthwyn cried, humiliated on Lothíriel's behalf. The once ice-cold queen was now frozen by her son's cruel words, and the expression on her face was as if she had just been punched in the stomach.

"_Papa!_" Elfwine howled in response, reaching the top of the stairs and bolting past Lothíriel.

"What happened, son?" Gúthwyn heard an instant later. Within the shadows of the Golden Hall she could see Éomer bending down to pick Elfwine up, hoisting the child easily into his arms as if he weighed no more than a rag doll.

Lothíriel disappeared into Meduseld, acknowledged only by a glare from Éomer over Elfwine's shoulder. Her feet made soft _pitter-patter_ noises as she swept away to her chambers; her shoulders twitched, the familiar motions of someone on the verge of weeping. Gúthwyn watched the queen's departure, helpless.

"Papa, Auntie Gúthwyn's going away!" Elfwine shrieked, causing his father to wince and surreptitiously rub his ears. "It's all Mama's fault! Make her stop! I don't _want_ Auntie Gúthwyn to go! I _need_ her! Make her stay, Papa! Make her—" The rest of the sentence was drowned out by a fresh round of bawling.

Unable to bear the torment of witnessing Elfwine's wretchedness, Gúthwyn turned aside and hurried back down the stairs. When Éomer called her name, she simply moved faster. If she had lingered for but another moment, she knew she would have burst into tears—and such an action would only serve to augment her nephew's misery.

Her heart felt as if it were about to implode as she moved like a ghost through the main street, noticing little of her surroundings. She could not determine which was worse: the prospect of living with Borogor's killer for the next year, perhaps even longer; or the knowledge that she had betrayed a vow to Elfwine in the cruelest manner, and would not see him for months.

_If only I could fall asleep and not wake up until Éomer and Lothíriel's marriage was healed,_ Éomund's daughter thought wistfully.

"My lady!"

Tun's voice, sounding rather indignant, broke in on her musings. Gúthwyn jumped guiltily, realizing that he had probably been trying to get her attention for some time. "I am sorry," she apologized, looking up to see her champion striding towards her. "I was thinking…"

"Of what?" Tun prompted when she did not continue. Seeing the downcast expression on her face, he added concernedly, "Are you all right?"

Unhappily, Gúthwyn shook her head.

Tun looked at her for a moment, his quiet gaze taking in her slumped shoulders and averted eyes. "Let us sit down," he suggested, gesturing to the rim of the nearby well.

Gúthwyn obligingly lowered herself onto the stone, making room so that her champion could do the same.

"What happened?" Tun asked gently when they were side-by-side.

Éomund's daughter hesitated. Though Tun was a close friend, she had urged Éomer to keep news of her imminent departure secret—and for good reason. She did not want to be constantly reminded of her dark future with each meeting in the street, with each conversation amongst acquaintances. However, now that she had confirmed plans with Éowyn and informed Elfwine of her intentions, there was nothing to do but gradually release the truth to the public. After all, she could not delay until the last possible instant and then suddenly disappear from Rohan again.

"My lady?" She had been silent for too long.

"Did you hear about my… argument with Lothíriel?" Gúthwyn inquired, glancing at her champion.

"Argument?" Tun echoed, arching an eyebrow. "I would hardly call it that. It has been told that you could not speak in your defense, so furiously was she accusing you of stealing her child. From what I understand, my lady, this incident has not improved the queen's popularity."

Gúthwyn sighed; she could only hope that soon Lothíriel's reputation would mend itself. "I suppose it does not matter which of us said more. Either way… I am leaving Rohan in two weeks."

Tun's eyes became round as plates. "I heard rumor of this," he admitted, looking crestfallen: "some of the soldiers claimed to have witnessed Éomer making inquiries about amassing an escort. Yet I did not think… why, my lady?"

Swallowing, Gúthwyn replied, "It has become clear to me that my presence in Edoras is affecting my nephew's relationship with his mother. I could not bear to be the reason for a rift between them; I must go. I have decided to pay Éowyn a long overdue visit."

"But my lady, Rohan will not be the same without you," Tun protested. "Who else will keep the men's egos in check by defeating them so effortlessly?"

Gúthwyn laughed a little at his words. "I am certain the soldiers will be adept at monitoring each other in that regard," she answered.

"Then who else will show such love towards the people?" Tun returned.

"My brother, of course," Gúthwyn declared, surprised by the question.

Tun shook his head. "Éomer is the king," he pointed out, "and though he is a popular one, he is too busy to go out into the streets every day and talk to his subjects. You, on the other hand… my lady, save for a few jealous women, there is not a single person in this city who does not hold you in the highest of esteem. Each citizen of Edoras—from the greatest of army captains to the poorest of the peasantry—can recall an anecdote about you, or has had some interaction with you over the course of your life. I have heard them speak about you, my lady: you are like their own child to most of them, the kindest of companions to the rest. Not even your brother has accomplished this, though he also is loved by the people."

Taken aback by Tun's earnestness, Gúthwyn tried to come up with a response sufficient enough to express her astonishment and gratitude. Never before had she entertained the possibility that Edoras would be as upset to see her go as she was to be leaving. "I… I did not realize…" she admitted, both stunned and touched.

Tun gave her a small smile. "Your nephew will not be the only one who mourns your departure, I can assure you," he informed her.

At the thought of Elfwine, the corners of Gúthwyn's mouth turned downwards. "I just told him," she confessed grimly, "not moments before you found me. As we speak he is begging Éomer to make me stay… I could not stand to see him so unhappy."

"I am sorry," Tun murmured sincerely. "I wish you did not have to go, my lady."

Gúthwyn nodded grimly. "So do I," she said with a sigh. "Thank you, Tun," she added, reluctantly getting to her feet. "I am sorry to have taken so much of your time."

"Not at all," Tun swore, also standing. "I only regret that you are still determined to move to Ithilien, though I have tried to encourage you otherwise."

"I will return as soon as I can," Gúthwyn promised. _I just do not know when that will be_, she thought miserably.

"Please do, my lady," Tun replied fervently, causing Éomund's daughter to blush. As she bid farewell to her champion, she found herself reflecting that it was a horrible shame to have to depart Rohan when her friendship with Tun was showing signs of approaching what it had once been—another consequence of the fallout between her and Lothíriel.

Five minutes later in a house just down the road, Brithwen, to her credit, did not smile upon hearing the news from her distraught husband; yet she could not help but feel as if a great cloud over her head had suddenly dissipated, revealing a dazzlingly bright sun and the beginnings of a glorious afternoon.

* * *

><p>When Gúthwyn reluctantly came back to Meduseld for dinner, Éomer was sitting at one of the tables in the hall with an inconsolable Elfwine in his arms. The poor child was wailing in distress, his face buried in his hands. "I don't <em>want<em> Auntie Gúthwyn to go!" Éomund's daughter heard him shriek. "Make her stay!"

Éomer met Gúthwyn's eyes with a sigh. Although his expression was not accusatory, she felt as if she had been punched in the gut as she beheld her nephew. Nothing was worse than knowing that she was the cause of his misery, that if it had not been for her Elfwine would have spent the day in utter contentment.

"Little one?" Gúthwyn asked softly, approaching the table and sitting down beside the prince.

How Elfwine heard her over his sobs, she could not tell; yet the next instant he glanced up at her, sniffling, and begged, "Please don't go, Auntie Gúthwyn!"

If one of the Valar had reached into her body, ripped out her heart, twisted it beyond repair, then thrown it on the floor and stomped on the remains, Gúthwyn could not possibly have felt any more pain than she did as she looked into her nephew's watering eyes. The very sight of his wounded gaze was like a knife slicing her abdomen; she thought she would have preferred the stabbing to the guilt.

"Little one, I must," Gúthwyn tried to explain, though she knew he would not understand. "I promise you, we will see each other again."

"You promised you wouldn't leave me!" Elfwine cried. "You _lied_!"

Gúthwyn swallowed. He was right. She had broken a vow—for reasons that were in the child's best interests, but that he could not even begin to comprehend. Despite the fact that nothing could make her change her mind, her nephew's words had a terrible impact. She was a horrible person, a betrayer of a five-year-old's trust, and she deserved to suffer for her crime.

"Son, sometimes things that we cannot control make us break promises we would otherwise keep," Éomer told Elfwine, his voice heavy with regret. "Rest assured that if your aunt could stay in Rohan in good conscience, she would."

"What's _good conscience_?" Elfwine demanded, stumbling over 'conscience.' "I don't like it if it takes Auntie Gúthwyn away from me."

"It is a sense of right and wrong," Éomer informed his son. "Your aunt does not believe that it is right for her to live here because of the argument she has had with your mother."

"But it's not your _fault_!" Elfwine cried to Éomund's daughter. "It's _Mama's_ fault! _She_ should go!"

"Your mother is the queen of this realm," Éomer reminded the child, the dark slant of his eyebrows suggesting that he no longer wished this was true; "she cannot go."

Elfwine struggled to come up with an argument. "But, Auntie Gúthwyn…" he said pitifully, "I love you."

"I love you, too, little one," Gúthwyn responded, nearly choking on her own misery and the rock-solid lump in her throat. It was an effort of magnificent proportions to restrain herself from breaking down into tears then and there, though her nephew's declaration had moved her like no other; yet she knew that Elfwine would become distraught if she started weeping, and so for his sake alone she checked the weakness that she otherwise would have surrendered herself to long before.

Aware of the emotional agony she was suffering, Éomer placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Do not worry, son," he said to Elfwine: "your aunt will keep her promise of coming home, for if she does not do so on her own I shall invite her to visit—and I will not take 'no' for an answer."

"When are you going to invite her?" Elfwine interrogated his father.

Éomer hesitated, exchanging a glance with Gúthwyn. Éomund's daughter shook her head, not wanting her brother to follow her footsteps and make a vow he could not be held to. "Before much time has passed," the king allowed.

"How _much_ time?" Elfwine petulantly inquired.

"I do not know," Éomer admitted.

Elfwine began crying again. "Auntie Gúthwyn, you'll be gone _forever_!" he bawled. "I'll never see you anymore!"

Gúthwyn tried to assure him that she would, in fact, come back when the time was right, but her nephew refused to be comforted. He sobbed incessantly for the next half hour, prompting numerous servants passing by to ask if something was wrong. Whenever they did, Éomer waved them off; yet after several minutes of this, he eventually decided that it would be best to take Elfwine and the child's dinner to the chambers he had once occupied with Lothíriel.

He asked Gúthwyn to wait for him at the table while he did so. Éomund's daughter obliged, though she was no longer hungry and did not think she would be able to eat a proper meal. She had to try, nevertheless, so she called one of the maids over and requested something from the kitchens. When at length her brother returned, however, she had only managed to swallow a quarter of the soup that the cook had immediately brought to her.

Éomer did not even seem to notice as he sat down beside her. "I hope you know," he said, "how hard it is to try and convince someone of something that you yourself do not believe is right."

Gúthwyn stared down into her lap. "Thank you," she whispered. "I am glad you did."

Éomer sighed. "Gúthwyn—"

Frantically, she shook her head. "Please," she entreated; "I know what you are going to say, and my answer is still the same. I have not reversed my decision, nor will I ever. I would like to leave for Ithilien as soon as I can, with as little delay as possible."

Éomer opened his mouth to retort, but a look from Éomund's daughter told him that it would be utterly useless to even try. With a grim, reluctant nod, he said, "I suppose I should make it known that I am still searching for an escort."

"Yes," Gúthwyn agreed, lifting her spoon and forcing another mouthful of broth down her throat. Swallowing, she added, "That would be best."

* * *

><p>Despite Gúthwyn's intentions to savor her last couple of weeks in Rohan, time flew by at an alarming speed. One day, Éomer was asking around for volunteers to form an escort to Ithilien; the next, thrice as many men as were needed had put themselves forward. Shortly after, the rest of the preparations were finished, and all Éomund's daughter had left to do was wait with increasing dread.<p>

The journey itself would be relatively easy: about five days of travel, with eleven-hour stints between stops to make camp and sleep. Hammel and Haiweth grumbled when they were informed of this schedule, but the exercise would hardly be taxing to Gúthwyn and the guards—all of whom had practically grown up on horseback. Éomer had suggested resting at Minas Tirith, where they were sure of receiving a warm welcome from King Elessar and Queen Arwen, yet Gúthwyn had adamantly insisted against imposing herself on their friends and, if truth be told, had no desire to visit the White City.

Once the arrangements had fallen into place, it was as if some hidden force were trying to push Éomund's daughter out of Rohan as soon as possible. The days melted away, ignoring all of her attempts to grasp onto them like a child clinging to their favorite blanket. Before she knew it, it was her last night in Edoras and she was reluctantly packing everything she owned to take to Ithilien.

There was not much. Aside from her gowns, her sword, a few miscellaneous trinkets, and Beregil's book of poems, she had little to bring with her. She was largely relieved by this, for it would certainly make transporting her belongings easier. Besides, she did not want the men to think that she were no better than one of those foul Dol Amroth women, who traveled with trunk upon trunk of clothes alone!

Snorting at the ridiculousness of it all, Gúthwyn crouched down and checked under her bed. There was nothing that she could not leave behind; yet she peered into every corner, just to make sure. She would not trouble Éomer by asking him to send along something she had forgotten, so it was imperative that she remember everything in the first place.

"Gúthwyn?"

Éomund's daughter gave a shriek of surprise. Unfortunately, she also jumped, resulting in her head banging against the underside of her bed. A muffled curse escaped her lips as she wriggled out from under the bed, dragging no small amount of dust out with her. "Damn you, Cobryn," she growled good-naturedly when she saw her friend leaning against the door, clearly struggling not to laugh.

"What were you doing under there?" Cobryn asked, arching an eyebrow. "That is where all the heavy linens are stored… I can assure you that Éowyn and Faramir will have plenty."

"They better," Gúthwyn muttered, shivering at the thought of the cold winter nights that no one else but her ever appeared to be troubled by.

Cobryn rolled his eyes. "How will you survive on the journey there? Even though it is summer, I do not doubt that you shall be freezing without your usual twenty or so comforters."

Gúthwyn made a face at him. Although she had packed an extra blanket for the road, she was certainly not about to tell him that. "I will manage," she insisted.

The look she received from Cobryn was one of disbelief. "Should you find yourself cold, you may borrow mine."

By an unspoken agreement between the two of them, Cobryn was accompanying Éomund's daughter to Ithilien. He had never asked her permission to come, and she had never dared to request that he follow her; he had simply made preparations on his own, and she had sighed in relief when she realized his intentions. At one point she had tentatively inquired if he would not miss being an advisor and seeing Lebryn on a daily basis, but he had merely shrugged and said, "Gondor will present new challenges to me as she sees fit. Besides, Lebryn has a family he needs to take care of."

And so Cobryn was to make his new residence in Ithilien. He had been helping Hammel pack his books for the past several hours; the boy had many, and had staunchly asserted that he would carry them all himself if there was not room for them in the packhorses. As "character building," Cobryn was making the teenager bear most of the burden, but some of them Gúthwyn would transport in Sceoh's saddlebags. Hammel had given her a thorough lecture on how the volumes were to be handled with utmost care, insisting that he be allowed to examine them each evening for damage.

Éomund's daughter glared at Cobryn. "You are _not_ offering me your blanket," she declared severely.

Cobryn made a dismissive gesture. "Just wait until we are out on the road and you find that both your normal sheets and the extra blanket you think I did not notice in one of your saddlebags are insufficient to keep you warm."

Her cheeks coloring, Gúthwyn protested, "I do not need nearly as many comforters as I used to!"

"That is true," Cobryn agreed. "Now you only require three or four, as opposed to five or six."

Gúthwyn grabbed the nearest pillow off her bed and whacked her friend with it. "Two," she corrected proudly.

Cobryn snatched the pillow out of her hand and gave her a quick, retaliating _smack_. "I doubt it," he challenged her.

"Cobryn!" Gúthwyn exclaimed, yanking the pillow back. "I am telling the truth!"

"Of course," Cobryn replied skeptically, easily deflecting her attacks with the pillow. As quick as a flash, he pulled it from her grasp and hit her again.

Gúthwyn gave up, though not without denying his charges once more. "Two!" she repeated. "Really."

"We shall see." Cobryn smirked.

The light in Gúthwyn's eyes faded somewhat as she surveyed the packing she had done. "Do you think I am missing anything?" she inquired anxiously.

Cobryn let go of the pillow and examined her work carefully. Éomund's daughter saw his brow knitting as he mentally ran through a list of items that were necessary for both the journey and her future residence in Ithilien. "It looks like you have all you need," he assured her.

Sighing, Gúthwyn lowered herself onto her bed. "I cannot believe I am leaving tomorrow," she murmured sadly. "After Isengard and Mordor, I never wanted to go…"

Cobryn did not sit down beside her, but nevertheless nodded sympathetically. Unlike Elfwine, he had thoroughly ceased trying to convince Gúthwyn not to go through with her plans, knowing that she was set on departing. "Hopefully you will be able to return soon."

"I pray that that will be the case," Gúthwyn agreed fervently. "As much as I love Éowyn, Ithilien is not my home." She said nothing of Faramir.

Cobryn was silent, and after a time Éomund's daughter glanced up at him. "Where is your home, Cobryn?" she asked curiously. "You came with me to Edoras willingly enough, yet you would have gone with me to Dol Amroth and now you seem perfectly content with the prospect of dwelling in Emyn Arnen."

"What 'home' I had is dead," Cobryn responded darkly, "and it is rotting in one of the Warg cages at Isengard as we speak. Probably in several pieces." He suddenly turned away from her, his fists clenched.

Gúthwyn swallowed, her insides twisting at the image of Feride that Cobryn's gruesome words had produced. His wife and his unborn child, so cruelly torn away from him, had been reduced to a meal for Saruman's loathsome creatures not long after Éomund's daughter had been taken to Mordor. Cobryn rarely, if ever, mentioned Feride; her loss was something he had never recovered from.

"I know your family is gone," Gúthwyn began timidly, "but what of Minas Tirith?" Cobryn had been raised in the White City of Gondor before his capture—did he still have cousins, perhaps, or other kin there? She had always assumed that he no longer did, yet in truth he had never spoken to her about the matter and she now realized that she knew nothing about it.

Cobryn merely shrugged, at last facing her again. "Some of my more distant relatives once lived there, but I did not try to find them," he replied. "Just as I did not seek word of my parents when I discovered that their house in Minas Tirith was empty."

"Y-You did not?" Éomund's daughter stammered, her jaw practically scraping the ground in disbelief. She had never heard that side of the story before. "W-_Why_?"

"I spent so many years in slavery that I could no longer remember what my parents looked like," Cobryn said heavily. "I saw no point in uprooting the life they had built for themselves without me. If they had been in their house, I would have liked to see them again, but perhaps it is for the better that they were not. I doubt our relationship would have been the same. As for the rest of my kin—well, even their names had long ago faded from my mind."

Gúthwyn could not think of anything sadder than Cobryn's dismissal, even outright rejection, of his family. She stared at him in shock, unable to comprehend that he was practically indifferent to the prospect of seeing his mother and father again. If she had had parents, she would have sought them out immediately upon her return to Edoras—there would have been nothing more important than making up for all the time they had lost.

Seeing the expression on her face, Cobryn said quietly, "Your ties to Edoras were greater than mine ever were to Minas Tirith, Gúthwyn. With my relatives gone, and Feride…" His voice lost strength, and he swallowed before continuing. "There is no one place in all of Middle-earth that I would consider 'home.' After living in Rohan I can see why you love this land, but I am not nearly as upset to be leaving as you are."

Gúthwyn did not know what to say. She could not possibly begin to conceive that anyone would be so cavalier about so important a topic.

"Forget it," Cobryn told her, shrugging. "You should get some rest. Tomorrow will be a long day."

Not trusting herself to speak without bursting into tears, Gúthwyn nodded. Her amazement at Cobryn's behavior vanished in an instant, making way for the turbulent emotions that were consuming her at the knowledge that she was moving to Ithilien. She was utterly dreading the next morning, but praying for it to never arrive was useless.

Cobryn seemed to understand her silence. "Goodnight," he said quietly, before turning and walking out of her room. The door closed softly behind him, leaving Gúthwyn alone with her gloomy musings.

_Tomorrow will be a _very _long day,_ she conceded miserably.


	31. Leaving Rohan

**Chapter Thirty-One**

When Gúthwyn woke up, it took her a moment to recall why she felt so wretched. Then she remembered: these were her last few hours in Edoras. Letting out a groan, she rolled over and buried her face in her pillow. Perhaps if she pretended that the outside world did not exist, reality would never catch up to her.

Reality, unfortunately, arrived in the form of her inevitable wake-up call from Cobryn, and there was no escaping the persistency of his cane. "You need to eat breakfast before we go," he reminded her when she reluctantly turned over and opened her eyes. "The horses are being saddled."

Gúthwyn swallowed: his words sounded so final. She wished he had not uttered them.

"Come," Cobryn said when she did not move. "I shall wait outside while you dress—and I will be back in ten minutes, so do not fall asleep again."

He was teasing her, for the most part, but Gúthwyn could not even crack a smile. Instead she nodded absently, and when Cobryn left the room she went to her wardrobe and pulled out the one article of clothing still inside. She took her time putting on the simple riding gown and brushing her hair, a childish part of her hoping that if she kept delaying the hour of her departure it would never come.

Yet the sounds of Cobryn knocking on her door cruelly dashed these dreams, and with a heavy sigh she let him in. A moment later, she had shouldered the pack that she would carry with her—Borogor's—and was taking one last look around her chambers. Oft these quarters had seemed to hem her in while she was awake, becoming all but a prison as she gasped for air in the aftermath of her terrible dreams, but this had been her room before the nightmares and she held a certain nostalgia for those childhood memories. Now, she would have to make new ones in Ithilien.

"I am ready," she finally announced, though nothing could have been further from the truth.

She walked out into the hall, and Cobryn closed the door behind her. "There does not appear to be much gossip concerning the guards that were chosen for your escort," he said encouragingly.

Gúthwyn was somewhat surprised by this. Although a number of the men were high-ranking officers who were held to better standards of conduct and would not be considered inappropriate companions for the journey—namely Elfhelm, Gamling, and Éothain (who also had a wife)—there were several younger soldiers who had volunteered for the job. Hunwald, Eohric, and Ecgulf were to help give her safe conduct to Ithilien, and Éomund's daughter was puzzled that rumors were not already flying.

"I think," Cobryn mused, "Éomer has leaned heavily on the soldiers to keep their wives and daughters from spreading such lies."

"Not to mention the loss of Lothíriel as their leader in that regard," Gúthwyn pointed out as they entered the throne room.

Cobryn nodded grimly. "That, too."

Gúthwyn sighed, looking around the great hall. Lothíriel was sitting alone at a table in the corner, listlessly stirring the contents of her soup bowl, but the king and prince were nowhere to be found. "Where did Éomer and Elfwine go?" she asked Cobryn.

"Elfwine was having a bit of a temper tantrum earlier," Cobryn informed her, his voice turning sarcastic on the word _bit_. "Éomer took him outside for a walk."

"Oh," Gúthwyn said quietly. She could guess why Elfwine was having a fit: he still had not come to terms with the fact that he was leaving Rohan, and every day was a struggle for her to ignore his increasingly desperate attempts to make her stay in Edoras. The poor child had tried everything: sobbing, screaming, begging, and even the silent treatment. (The latter had only lasted a few minutes.)

"Come," Cobryn spoke, yanking her from her thoughts. "You need breakfast."

Gúthwyn had no choice but to follow him to a table, for her friend's jaw was set in the way that indicated she would get absolutely nowhere by refusing him. The meal was a dismal affair: she was in no mood to eat, yet nevertheless put the food into her dry mouth and miserably swallowed. When she had finally finished the toast, she roughly pushed the plate away from her.

"We should go outside," she declared, forcing the last bit of bread down her mouth. The food settled uncomfortably in the pit of her stomach—but she doubted her sudden queasiness had anything to do with what she had eaten. Before her next meal the city of Edoras would be no more than a dot on the far horizon, a speck that she would gaze back at from the saddle and wish she had never left behind.

Cobryn walked with her to the doors. "If you are having second thoughts," he said as they stepped out into the morning sunlight, "Éomer would not hesitate to cancel the entire trip."

Gúthwyn shook her head, ignoring how tempting such a suggestion was. "You know I will not do that, Cobryn," she responded sadly. "It would not be fair to Elfwine."

"And you call _that_ fair to Elfwine?" Cobryn inquired, arching an eyebrow and pointing.

Éomund's daughter followed his gaze down the stairs and across the street to see her nephew bawling into Éomer's shoulder, his tiny shoulders shaking with sobs. The very sight made both her heart and throat constrict; she suddenly could not breathe for self-loathing, and the burning desire to escape soon consumed her. "I-I should go to the stables," she muttered, seizing the first excuse that popped into her head. "Sceoh m-must be prepared for the j-journey…"

With that she hastened away, looking neither left nor right until she had reached the sanctuary of the stables. Unfortunately, the atmosphere within was not exactly calming: servants from Meduseld were running to and fro, packing those of her belongings that would not fit in Sceoh's saddlebags. A couple of the guards who were in her escort were also there, completing various last-minute tasks.

"My lady," Elfhelm addressed her, inclining his head as they passed each other. "Have you seen Éomer? I have been told that he is searching for me."

"He is just outside," Gúthwyn answered, her gut twisting at the reminder of Elfwine. "He is not far at all."

Elfhelm thanked her and left the stables. Éomund's daughter exhaled slowly and then went into her own stall, relieved to note that at least Sceoh did not seem terribly disturbed by all the commotion—although it still did take a moment before he was willing to let her brush his mane. "I hope you find Ithilien more to your liking," Gúthwyn told him, smiling sadly. "It should be less noisy than Edoras."

The quiet perhaps would appeal to Sceoh more than the ever-bustling confines of the city, but Gúthwyn doubted that whatever area Faramir had set aside for the exercising of horses would compare to the vast, open fields at her brother's disposal. Instead she would be hemmed in by trees and hills, unable to roam freely across the plains that she loved so much. The very idea made her feel suffocated.

When she was done grooming Sceoh, she led the horse outside. She had only gone a few steps before she stopped short in surprise: a solid crowd of people had gathered on either side of the main road, their numbers so many that she could not even begin to count them all. Yet though there were hundreds, she was certain that all of the faces were familiar.

There were the men she sparred with on the training grounds, the children she watched with Elfwine and their mothers, the servants and stableboys of Meduseld, the advisors on Éomer's council, the elderly citizens of Edoras who had known her since she was a child (and therefore frequently invoked the right to tease her about things she had done when she was younger), other inhabitants of the city with whom she interacted on a daily basis, and even the women who only recently had stopped mocking her in public.

As she gazed around at her people, the realization of just how much she would miss them all hit Gúthwyn with the force of a ton of stones being thrown at her. She suddenly felt as if all the wind had been knocked out of her: she could barely breathe, let alone move. How foolish was she, voluntarily renouncing the home she had spent an entire seven years in captivity longing for? How could she say goodbye to Rohan, when she had no desire to live anywhere else and to pretend that she did was nothing short of self-betrayal?

"My lady!"

The familiar shout caused Éomund's daughter to start, a motion echoed by Sceoh. She looked up to see Tun hurrying towards her, his appearance disheveled as if he had just fought his way through the throng.

"Hello, Tun," Gúthwyn greeted him sadly, gazing into her champion's handsome face and thinking of how much she was going to miss him. Would her absence help strengthen their friendship, or would it only make the situation worse? Their relationship had recently shown signs of coming close to its former state—would such progress be ruined by her going away, or would it be easier for Tun to accept the fact that she had rejected his offer of marriage?

"I cannot believe you are leaving," Tun informed her shakily, his troubled expression a mirror of her own. "I never thought I would see the day…"

"Neither did I," Gúthwyn admitted, quickly blinking in order to preempt any tears that might be conspiring to surface.

"Even though you are moving to Ithilien," Tun said seriously, "I will still be your champion—if you desire me to be, that is."

Gúthwyn wholeheartedly gave up any attempt at restraint, propriety, and whatever else was expected of her by their numerous onlookers; she wrapped her arms around her friend and embraced him tightly, for a brief time not caring even if Brithwen were watching. "Of course I want you to be my champion," she whispered, swallowing hard in a futile effort to defeat the lump in her throat. "Thank you for everything, Tun. Words cannot describe how much I will miss you…"

Tun hugged her back, his strong arms a temporary shelter from the reality of what lay in store. "The training grounds shall not be the same without you," he declared, adding in a teasing tone: "the men there are not nearly as beautiful as you are, my lady."

Gúthwyn could not help but laugh. "I should hope not," she responded, giggling. "When I return, I expect you to be my first sparring partner!"

"Of course," Tun promised.

The two of them separated, Gúthwyn wiping at her suddenly irritated eyes. "Goodbye, Tun," she said to her champion, taking in one last sight of him in his guard uniform. "I wish you and Brithwen well."

"Thank you, my lady," Tun replied, bowing. "Come back soon."

Gúthwyn nodded, struggling to keep from crying as he turned around and melted back into the crowd. If other farewells were as painful as this, she would not be able to bear them. _Where is Lebryn?_ she wondered, standing on her tiptoes and scanning the masses for a sight of her friend. At least she could count on him to lift her spirits.

As if on cue, the roguishly attractive former slave appeared at her side. "Had to force my way through all of that to get to you," Lebryn announced, gesturing towards the people lined up along the road. "You better be grateful."

His dark eyes sparkled as he said this; Gúthwyn grinned, her mood already improving. "I am," she assured him. "I was just looking for you, as a matter of fact."

"I get that from a lot of women," Lebryn deadpanned.

Gúthwyn punched him in the arm. "You are _married_, remember?" she joked, chuckling.

"Oh, right." Lebryn's features turned crestfallen. "Speaking of which, Celewen told me to say goodbye to you for her. She wants you to know that Onyveth will miss playing with you and Elfwine."

Éomund's daughter sighed. She would, too. "Elfwine will still be here, at least."

"Well, if you ask me, he has been brooding quite a bit for the past couple of weeks," Lebryn replied. "Not exactly interested in a game of tag, I gather." Noticing the slump of Gúthwyn's shoulders, he hastened to change the subject. "But with you gone, who will keep my ego in check? You are the only woman in all of Edoras who has managed to resist my charms," he said dramatically, grinning wolfishly at her. "So far."

Gúthwyn rolled her eyes. "Please," she replied. "It would take more than one person to control your ego."

Lebryn pretended to be stung. "What are you implying?" he demanded.

"You know I have never been able to deter you from pursuing yet another conquest," Gúthwyn reminded her friend, rolling her eyes.

"You did warn me once, though, about the dangers of my getting involved with married women," Lebryn answered, smirking.

"And did that stop you?" Gúthwyn inquired, arching an eyebrow.

"Well… at least I used more discretion," Lebryn admitted after a pause.

"Lebryn, you are impossible!" Gúthwyn exclaimed, though she was laughing as she did so. In spite of the fact that Lebryn's life had once consisted of taking a different woman to bed every night, she rarely felt ill at ease around him and she almost always managed to overlook that seedy aspect of his reputation. She still remembered the sullen, bitter boy he had been in Isengard—what a difference there was between that angry child and the wonderful father he had now become!

The father in question flashed her a broad grin. "I may be impossible, but you love me anyway," he said cockily.

"Perhaps I should not leave," Gúthwyn retorted. "It sounds like your ego needs all the restraint it can get."

Lebryn gave a triumphant cry. "Success!"

"I wish," Gúthwyn muttered. More than anything, she wanted to stay in Edoras. Yet no matter how convincing a speaker they were, no one could make her forget that her departure was for the sake of her brother's family. Lebryn's attempts at swaying her, humorous though they were, had fallen utterly short.

Lebryn's expression turned serious as he watched her. "Take care of yourself, will you?" he asked gruffly. "Forget the past. What is done is done."

If only it were that easy… "Thank you, Lebryn," Gúthwyn responded, allowing him to pull her into a one-armed hug. "I hope to see you sooner than later."

"As do I," Lebryn agreed, his voice thick. "Keep in touch, eh?"

"Lebryn, are you… are you _crying_?" Gúthwyn queried in astonishment, pulling back and scrutinizing him.

"Of course not," Lebryn snapped, using the back of his hand to rub at his eyes. "Too much sunlight, that is all. Have you seen Cobryn? I should say goodbye to him, also."

Gúthwyn knew her friend was lying, but to preserve his dignity she pretended that she believed him. "I last saw him on the stairs," she remarked, turning around to examine the steps. "Oh, there he is—not too far away, talking to Hammel."

Lebryn grunted and began walking in the direction he had indicated, still wiping irritably at his eyes. Éomund's daughter gazed after him for a moment, her attention eventually shifting onto Hammel. When Lebryn drew Cobryn aside, the boy—by the Valar, now almost a man—was almost immediately accosted by Aldeth. The two of them wandered off towards the armory, but though Gúthwyn actually jumped in an effort to see over the crowd she was unable to catch a glimpse of what they were doing.

Wondering, always wondering about Hammel, she gave up and scanned the area for Éomer. He was off to the side with Elfhelm, the two of them engaged in what appeared to be a serious conversation. Gúthwyn's brow knit: Éomer looked distinctly troubled.

"What is wrong?" she asked lightly a few seconds later, approaching the two men and tilting her head curiously.

The king and the Marshal abruptly stopped talking. "Nothing, sister," Éomer responded immediately. "Why?"

"You seemed preoccupied," Gúthwyn commented, glancing back and forth between him and Elfhelm.

"Your brother is simply being overprotective of you again," Elfhelm explained, rolling his eyes. "This must be the hundredth time I have reviewed our safety precautions with him."

"Éomer, you worry too much," Gúthwyn chided her brother. "Nothing will happen to me. The roads have been free of Sauron's creatures for years."

She stepped aside to make way for a passing-by soldier and his horse, unaware of the dark looks Éomer and Elfhelm were exchanging. "Where did Elfwine go?" she inquired.

"He is with his mother," Éomer answered, his fists clenching at the mention of Lothíriel. "That is a disaster waiting to happen—I should find him. He will be wanting to say goodbye to you."

Gúthwyn swallowed. Parting with her nephew was what she was dreading most about today, even moreso than her actual departure from Rohan.

"Sister, come with me," Éomer beckoned her. "The guards are ready; what of Hammel and Haiweth? Are their horses prepared?"

"Hammel's is," Gúthwyn confirmed, having just seen the boy a moment ago. "I have not seen Haiweth… no, there she is." The girl was standing a few feet away from her brother, her expression suggesting that she was bored with the proceedings—and ready to leave as soon as possible. "She has everything she needs," Gúthwyn noted quietly, still stung by Haiweth's dismissal of Rohan and its culture.

"Good, good," Éomer muttered distractedly, leading her up the stairs. The servants who had finished their tasks were gathered there—Gúthwyn could see Cwene, Elflede, and Mildwen forming a somber cluster in their midst. She smiled at the three of them; the rest of the maids were unable to meet her eyes.

Lothíriel was waiting by the doors, a sulking Elfwine at her side. Neither mother nor son were speaking to each other. Elfwine had flopped onto the ground and folded his arms across his chest, resolutely refusing to display a mere modicum of decorum.

"Little one?" Éomund's daughter murmured softly, drawing closer to her nephew.

The next thing she knew, a sobbing Elfwine had flung himself into her arms and was wailing about how he would never see her again. "Little one, I am not leaving forever," she reminded him gently, her heart breaking at the sight of him so miserable. Lothíriel had disappeared somewhere into the crowd of servants and was nowhere to be seen. "Someday I will come back."

"_When_, Auntie Gúthwyn?" Elfwine wanted to know, sniffling. "Soon?"

"Not soon," Gúthwyn corrected softly, "but hopefully before much time has passed. I promise, Elfwine, I will write a letter to you every week." _Every day, more likely,_ she thought ruefully.

"But I can't read!" Elfwine protested unhappily. "I don't know how!"

"Your father will read them to you," Gúthwyn assured him. "And at some point, you will learn how to read them yourself."

"Okay, Auntie Gúthwyn," Elfwine mumbled wretchedly.

"Will you be a good boy while I am gone?" Gúthwyn inquired, kneeling so that they were at the same height.

"I s'pose," Elfwine reluctantly agreed.

Gúthwyn hugged him. "Thank you, little one," she said earnestly, then lowered her voice to avoid being overheard by Lothíriel in case the queen was nearby. "Be nice to your mother."

Elfwine scowled. "I don't want to," he asserted. "I hate her."

"Please, Elfwine," Gúthwyn begged. "Your mother loves you."

"I don't care."

"For me?" Éomund's daughter pressed.

There was a long pause. "Fine," Elfwine grudgingly conceded. "But not if she's mean to you," he was quick to add.

"I am sure she will not be," Gúthwyn said, relieved. "Thank you so much."

"Sister?" Éomer's voice cut in on their conversation.

"Yes, brother?" Gúthwyn asked, still holding onto her nephew.

"Everyone is ready," the king announced, looking as if he had just swallowed something particularly unpleasant. "Shall I… shall I walk you to your horse?"

Gúthwyn nodded quickly, her throat turning dry. "O-Of course," she replied. "Come, little one."

"Are you leaving now?" Elfwine demanded, his eyes welling up with tears.

Éomund's daughter made a strangled sound of confirmation as she got to her feet. Elfwine gasped and launched towards her, grabbing her by the legs and prohibiting her from moving any further.

"I should carry him down the stairs," Éomer muttered. Bending over, he prized the young prince's arms from his aunt's thighs and picked the toddler up.

"Papa, no!" Elfwine cried, thrashing ineffectively in his father's grasp. "I want Auntie Gúthwyn!"

Éomer ignored his son's protests and walked with Gúthwyn down the steps, only setting Elfwine down when they had neared Sceoh. Elfwine immediately clung to Éomund's daughter, looking nothing short of miserable.

"Say hello to Éowyn for me," Éomer told Gúthwyn, sighing. "As well as Faramir."

Gúthwyn dutifully agreed, though she inwardly winced at the newfound necessity of speaking to Borogor's killer.

"Do you have everything?" Éomer now asked, checking her saddlebags. Sceoh shifted uncomfortably at his touch. "Framwine?" Éomer patted the sheathe as if doubting that the blade was in it. "Extra blankets?"

"Yes, brother," Gúthwyn said patiently, knowing he was simply trying to delay the inevitable.

Éomer ran through the entire inventory of things she had already packed, though he hardly seemed to notice her affirmative responses. When he had at last determined that there was nothing she could possibly be missing, and that there was no further reason to postpone the moment of farewell, he exhaled slowly and finally turned to face her. "Have a safe journey," he bade her.

Gúthwyn nodded and embraced him, though not without ensuring that she was not crushing Elfwine between the two of them. Luckily her nephew moved out of the way, adjusting his position so that he was holding onto her side. "I am going to miss defeating you on the training grounds, brother," she tried to joke, but neither of them laughed. "Will you write to me if you do not have too much paperwork?"

"Of course—even if I do," Éomer vowed, his firm grip making it difficult for her to breathe. She did not mind. "It has been wonderful having you here with us," he added sincerely. "Come home soon."

"Come home _now_!" Elfwine commanded.

Gúthwyn tried to smile as she pulled away from Éomer, but her jaw muscles were suddenly unwilling to cooperate. "I will miss both of you so much," she choked out, bending down to hug Elfwine one last time. "Thank you, Éomer, for everything you have done for me and the children. Your generosity is something I can never hope to repay you for…" She trailed off, unable to continue.

"There is nothing to repay," Éomer said firmly. "Write me as soon as you get to Emyn Arnen so that I can be sure you have arrived safely. And if there is anything you need, please do not hesitate to ask."

Gúthwyn promised to do so. "Goodbye, brother," she murmured. "Goodbye, Elfwine."

"G-Goodbye, Auntie Gúthwyn," Elfwine managed before he burst into noisy tears. He allowed himself to be drawn into Éomer's arms, though not without an initial struggle. Eventually he buried his head in his father's chest, unable to even look at Éomund's daughter.

Gúthwyn's heart was slowly crumbling at the sight of her nephew so unhappy; but she steeled herself to get to her feet and hop into the saddle, the last person in her company to do so. The guards had long ago mounted their steeds. Even Cobryn, Hammel, and Haiweth were waiting for her. Yet all of them were still—not until she kicked Sceoh into a trot would they follow suit.

She lingered for a moment, her gaze resting on the Golden Hall. How many memories did she have of this place, her home for so many years? She could not even begin to count them. They were rushing through her mind at lightning speed, leaving her reeling from the assault. Before she could give in to the tears that she knew would come, she waved at the servants—even the ones who until recently had connived against her—and turned away.

It was then that she realized she had not said goodbye to Lothíriel. But did it matter? The queen hated her. Nothing but Gúthwyn's absence would ever change that. There was too much anger, too much bitterness between them. Lothíriel was likely counting down the minutes until her rival's departure.

Éomund's daughter sighed, and let it go. "Farewell, sister," Éomer said as she glanced back at him.

Gúthwyn nodded, took a deep breath, and gently nudged Sceoh into action.

"Farewell, my lady!" she heard almost immediately as the other guards did the same, urging their horses down the road. It seemed as if the entire crowd took up the cry, so that "Farewell, my lady!" was positively ringing in her ears.

Éomund's daughter tried to make eye contact with everyone as she moved along the street, but such an aspiration was impossible to achieve. There were simply too many of them. A few, such as Heahtor, yelled her name so loudly that she knew immediately who they were and was able to wave at them, yet some—such as Hildeth and Wífled, who were quietly watching her go—she almost did not see until it was too late.

She passed the well, the armory, Halwend the healer's dwelling, Tun's house… all places and landmarks she was familiar with, all places and landmarks she would not see for at least a year. As she neared the training grounds, a deafening roar met her ears. What appeared to be every member of Éomer's army who lived in Edoras was stationed there, shouting her name and waving enthusiastically.

"We will miss you, my lady!" Erkenbrand called, waving at her.

"Faramir's men will never know what hit them!" another soldier declared, generating laughter amongst those near him. Even Gúthwyn had to bite back a smile; yet the sight of the escort in front of her, leading her out of Edoras, was enough to quell her mirth. How long would it be before she was reunited with these men, her steadfast companions and training partners?

They were now at the gates. It had taken so little time to reach them that Gúthwyn almost could not believe they were there. The soldiers' cries were fading; the silence that would meet them in the fields ahead was slowly muffling the noise of the city. Balman, the old watchman who had always kept an eye on her during her riding excursions across the plains, was waiting for her at the gates.

"Good luck, my lady," he said to her as the guards ahead filed out of Edoras.

Gúthwyn smiled: a ghost of a smile, a grin that tugged falsely at her cheeks. "Thank you, Balman," she told the kind guard.

He bowed to her as Sceoh went past. Gúthwyn tried to look back, but the rest of her retinue obscured him and the rest of the city from her view. There was nowhere to turn but forwards.

"Are you all right?" Cobryn asked, slowing his horse down so that he was trotting alongside her.

Gúthwyn shook her head. "No," she replied as she rode out of Edoras, departing her childhood home. "No, I am not."

When Cobryn glanced sympathetically at her, she heard a loud _creak_ as the gates to the city began closing after the last member of their company. She was now an outsider, cut off from her people and the life she had once led. Praying that she would not start sobbing then and there, Gúthwyn bowed her head and urged Sceoh into a canter. She ordered herself not to turn around in the saddle, though Edoras was swiftly receding into the horizon behind her.

They passed the burial mounds of her ancestors, where Théoden and Théodred now lay. Gúthwyn silently bade farewell to her uncle and cousin, her eyes watering as she remembered how the latter had taken her under his wing and taught her invaluable lessons. Théodred's untimely death hurt all the more: he had died less than a week before her return to Edoras. Now she was leaving him behind, and there would be no more visits to his grave. _Goodbye, Théodred._

_Goodbye_, she thought again, haunting images of Lebryn cursing the sunlight, Éomer fervently checking her saddlebags, and Elfwine sobbing flashing through her mind. Her heart felt as if it had shattered into a million pieces, all of them lying somewhere on the main road of Edoras.

And as if leaving Rohan were not enough, a week from now she would be trapped in Ithilien… with the man who had murdered Borogor.

_Thanks for nothing,_ she savagely told the Valar.

* * *

><p>Elfwine was still bawling when Éomer finally found Lothíriel. The crowd of servants had dispersed along with most of the onlookers, their ranks parting to reveal his wife standing near the doors leading into the Golden Hall. <em>Like a coward<em>, the king thought, enraged. _She never even said farewell to Gúthwyn!_

Lothíriel gazed at him in trepidation as he approached, her limbs trembling in spite of her obvious effort to remain calm. The very sight of her made him want to strangle her.

Instead, he gestured at Elfwine. The child was wailing so hard that he did not even notice Lothíriel: his face was still buried in Éomer's chest. "I hope," the king of Rohan spat furiously, "that driving my baby sister from her home was worth breaking your son's heart."

"Éomer, please," Lothíriel whispered, shivering beneath his cold stare. "I never—"

Éomer turned his back on her and stalked into Meduseld. He had nothing to say to the woman he had once loved anymore.


	32. Elfhelm's Quandary

**Chapter Thirty-Two**

"Here."

Gúthwyn glanced up just in time to avoid being hit by the small loaf of bread that Cobryn tossed her. Clumsily, she caught her dinner and tried to muster some enthusiasm for its consumption.

"You are eating less and less the farther we move from Edoras," Cobryn said severely, noting her lack of interest. Even though the light in the sky was swiftly fading, Gúthwyn could easily detect the disapproval in his expression. "It is a pattern that I will not allow to continue."

"Sorry," Gúthwyn muttered, tearing off a miniscule piece of bread and reluctantly putting it in her mouth. As Cobryn snorted and sat down beside her with his own meal, she gazed dully around the temporary encampment. Some wild animal had been caught earlier this morning, and most of the men were cooking their portion over the fire. The smell of roasting flesh was excruciatingly sharp in Gúthwyn's nostrils, and she winced as the odor from Cobryn's ration invaded her nose.

Hammel was with the guards, doing his best to not appear inexperienced as he carefully turned the meat over with a skewer he had fashioned himself from a stick; yet his slender frame looked out of place amongst the muscular builds of the soldiers. Haiweth, on the other hand, had taken to hovering around Gúthwyn in lieu of being with the men. From her perch on a rock near Éomund's daughter, she gazed longingly at the meat but made no move to obtain it.

The only person not currently eating was Elfhelm, who was pacing the outskirts of the camp. Tension radiated from the Marshal's shoulders, spreading down to the legs that were rigidly striding to and fro. Gúthwyn watched him for a time, wondering if more was troubling her friend than the normal concerns of a warrior on watch duty. Ever since they had left Edoras he had been acting terse, frequently berating the younger guards for not taking watch duty seriously enough. Éomund's daughter did not understand why he was so uptight—after all, the roads of Middle-earth had long been cleared of danger. What did he have to be worried about?

The source of Elfhelm's preoccupation, however, soon faded from her mind as her eyes drifted past him and onto the last remnants of Rohan's fields. After two days in the saddle, they were reaching the end of the plains. Following the Great West Road, they had ridden across the Eastfold with the mountains to their right. Tomorrow they would pass through the Firienwood, a small forest that was part of the border between Rohan and Gondor. Anórien, "Sun Land," was the particular province they would be entering—but Gúthwyn knew that however cheerful the weather in that region, her mood would not improve.

"You are not eating," Cobryn reprimanded her sternly, drawing her from her thoughts.

Gúthwyn sighed, obligingly taking another bite of the bread. "Sorry," she mumbled in between swallows. "I seem to have lost my appetite."

Cobryn chose to ignore her remark, and instead sunk his teeth into his cut of meat. Gúthwyn's stomach turned over at the sight. "How can you possibly enjoy that?" she could not resist asking in disgust.

"After the food in Isengard, I have found myself significantly less finicky about what I consider dinner," was Cobryn's reply.

Gúthwyn shuddered, having had the opposite experience with Mordor. Thanks to Haldor's brutal methods of forcing her to eat, she rarely had the desire to finish so much as the merest piece of toast or a bowl of the plainest broth. Although as a child she had once had a voracious appetite, those days were now no more than a wistful memory. "I miss being able to do that," she muttered, gesturing at the meat Cobryn was unconcernedly consuming.

"What about trying again?" Cobryn asked, offering his dish to her.

Éomund's daughter immediately recoiled, feeling sick as she gazed at the juices oozing out of the animal carcass. "N-No," she responded, shaking her head vigorously. "I cannot."

Cobryn gave her a sympathetic look. "You may surprise yourself with what you can do, should you ever overcome your fears."

"I doubt I shall see that day," Gúthwyn said, relieved when her friend took back his meat. "There are some things… some things I cannot forget."

Silence fell between them as Cobryn glanced away, and Gúthwyn scolded herself for her insensitivity. She was not the only one haunted by their past, and it was wrong of her to complain in front of others who had suffered just as much as she—if not more. "I… I think I will see how Elfhelm is doing," she announced, embarrassed. "The poor man has not stopped pacing since we arrived here."

"Take your bread with you," Cobryn insisted as she rose.

"Yes, mother," Gúthwyn retorted, nevertheless retrieving her meal. Holding it by her side, she marched across the camp—determinedly avoiding the fire the other soldiers were using to cook—until she was at Elfhelm's side. When the Marshal acknowledged her with a strained smile, she inquired, "What is wrong?"

Elfhelm's eyes widened, and she was surprised to see suspicion in them. "What do you mean?" the warrior asked, watching her closely.

"You have been fretting ever since we set out for Ithilien, Elfhelm," Gúthwyn informed him, confused. "What is going on?"

Elfhelm exhaled. "Nothing," he told her, though his expression betrayed him. "I will admit that I do not like traveling, especially out in the open like this, but you need not be troubled."

Gúthwyn could not help but laugh at his seriousness. "In the open?" she echoed, rolling her eyes. "Did I not assure you and my brother but two days ago that the roads have long been free of the Enemy? Elessar and Éomer themselves have seen to this. Besides, soon we will be in the Firienwood—and that is hardly 'in the open.'" She could see the edges of the forest on the far-off horizon from where she was standing, and the trees certainly appeared to be grouped closely together.

"No, but it is perfect for an ambush," Elfhelm snapped.

"An ambush of what?" Gúthwyn demanded, staring at her friend in shock. What had gotten into Elfhelm? The Marshal was normally even-keeled, and had never lashed out at her like that.

"Forgive me, my lady," Elfhelm said ruefully, looking apologetic. "I should not have been so rude. Nor do you need to fear. My mind is simply being overactive."

"Have the other men do guard duty tonight," Gúthwyn suggested sympathetically. She was all too familiar with the effects of paranoia. "It sounds like you could use some rest."

Elfhelm was already shaking his head. "That is not fair to them—and some of them do not have enough experience for me to be comfortable with placing so much responsibility on their shoulders."

"What about Gamling?" Gúthwyn asked, gesturing towards the captain.

"He takes just as many shifts as I do," Elfhelm replied. "Worry not, my lady; I shall be fine."

In spite of his optimistic words, the brooding tone with which he spoke did not at all ease Gúthwyn's discomfort. "A-Are you sure?" she questioned hesitantly.

Elfhelm nodded vehemently. "Sleep well tonight," he bade her, effectively ending the conversation.

Still bewildered as to what problems were plaguing the Marshal, Gúthwyn thanked him and returned to the inner confines of the camp. As she walked towards Cobryn, she passed the feasting guards and happened to lock eyes with Gamling. The man's cheeks turned red with mortification, and he lowered his head to stare intently at his meal. Ever since she had told him the truth behind the rumors of her impurity, he had not been able to look her in the face.

Although she understood that his behavior was not a poor reflection on herself, and that the captain of the guard simply did not know how to act around a rape victim—for so he now saw her—Gúthwyn was disheartened by this treatment. It made her resolve to never inform anyone of her past again, no matter how urgent it was that she did so. If this was how Gamling, a close friend who had been acquainted with her since her birth, reacted, then what might someone else do? Such disclosure was forever out of the question.

When she reached Cobryn's side, the man had finished his dinner. "What is wrong with Elfhelm?" he inquired curiously.

Gúthwyn shrugged. "It seems as if he is overcautious about the potential dangers that the road may hold in store for us… yet I have never known him to be like this."

Cobryn looked thoughtful. "I saw him discussing something with Éomer before we left," he mentioned. Gúthwyn nodded, having witnessed the same encounter. "Both of them were grim—I wonder if there has been a report of Orcs or goblins gathering in the mountains."

Gúthwyn rolled her eyes. Cobryn and Elfhelm were both too serious for their own good. "In case you have forgotten, Cobryn," she retorted, "those Orcs and goblins that did not perish with Sauron have all been hunted down since. I doubt Elfhelm has cause to worry. He is probably more afraid of what Éomer would do if I did not arrive in Ithilien in one piece!"

"I pity whomever would bear the brunt of his wrath," Cobryn said, smirking.

A low chuckle escaped Éomund's daughter, but her mirth quickly faded as she remembered how upset her brother had been to see her go. She missed him already, though it had not yet been three days since their parting. Memories of their duels on the training grounds, the easy banter they had traded back and forth, and even his nagging about her clothing choices flooded her mind until she was practically drowning in them, unable to breathe as she thought of how different her life would be without him.

"Gúthwyn?"

Cobryn's voice suddenly seemed very far away, not to mention inconsequential. To whom would she turn now for protection? With Éomer gone, with her home a distant city that she could not return to, she had no sense of security. What would transpire when she reached Ithilien? In Emyn Arnen she would be surrounded by Faramir's men, none of whom she was familiar with—save the ones who had helped ambush her and Borogor. She was certain that Ithilien was somewhat repopulated by now, and that there would at least be some women and children, but these would likely be families of the Rangers. Whom would she look to for companionship?

"Gúthwyn, are you all right?"

"Yes, I am _fine_," Éomund's daughter ground out, irritated that her thoughts had shown so clearly in her face. What had happened to the years when she was brave, and emotions were weaknesses beneath her? Why could she no longer conceal her hurts, as she had done in Mordor?

_You should be thanking the Valar that you escaped,_ she chastised herself the next instant. _Not lamenting the fact that you used to be able to hide all the abuse you suffered!_

She sighed, audibly. If Elfwine were at her side, he would tell her she was being silly. Her heart clenched at the thought of him; she remembered how energetic he was, how warm and bubbly and enthusiastic for life he had always been. It was he alone who could cheer her up simply by saying her name, and he alone who was adorable enough to make her utterly incapable of refusing him anything. When it came to interpreting her mood, he practically rivaled Cobryn in his proficiency.

Her musings darkened as the sun dipped into the horizon, lengthening the shadows and increasing the glow of the nearby flames. With the blackness of the night came a chill, one that had Éomund's daughter shivering as she scavenged for her spare blanket. It would have been easier for her to join the men at the fire, but for once she did not want to be surrounded by friends.

"I am going to retire for the evening," Cobryn said as the guards began dispersing, heading towards their sleeping pallets. Gúthwyn looked blankly at him. "Are you sure you are feeling well?"

Éomund's daughter nodded mutely.

"Do you need anything?" Cobryn persisted.

_I need to go home,_ Gúthwyn thought bitterly, but she merely shook her head.

Cobryn's face held the all-too familiar expression of disbelief, yet he chose not to comment and instead gathered up the remains of his meal. Gúthwyn did not watch as he walked off to dispose of the bones; instead, she craned her neck for a glimpse of Hammel and Haiweth. The latter was fast asleep, wrapped securely in her blankets, but the former was straining to read one of his books by the light of the dying embers from the fire.

Gúthwyn gazed at the child—nay, young man—for a moment, wondering about his farewell with Aldeth. Ever since their departure, Haiweth had speculated incessantly about whether or not the two of them had kissed, but one thing was for certain: they would never get any answers from Hammel. He was barely even on speaking terms with Éomund's daughter; Gúthwyn doubted he would ever forgive her for leaving Edoras.

_That makes him and my heart,_ she thought morosely, picking up a twig and absent-mindedly drawing it through the dirt. When after ten minutes she realized that she was scratching out a map of the city, she dropped the stick as if it were burning hot. She missed her home so much that it was a physical pain in her chest, an awful tightening sensation that was preventing her from inhaling with ease.

"My lady?"

Startled, Gúthwyn glanced up to see Elfhelm approaching her concernedly. That was when she became aware of the fact that, save the Marshal, she was the only one in the camp still awake. The others were mere shapes huddled beneath blankets and cloaks, the sheets rising and falling with each breath.

"You should get some rest," Elfhelm advised her, his eyes holding hers. "We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow."

"Yes," Gúthwyn agreed listlessly, thinking of the ride through the Firienwood that awaited them. "Yes, we do." Yet she made no move to get up and walk over to her own pallet.

"Please," Elfhelm urged anxiously. "You must be alert tomorrow."

Gúthwyn knitted her brow in confusion at the Marshal's strange choice of words, but eventually she consented and rose to her feet. "Goodnight, Elfhelm," she bade her friend, not for the first time that day wondering what was bothering him.

"Goodnight," he replied before standing and returning to the fire. Gúthwyn watched as he picked up a stick and jabbed viciously at the logs, obviously with more force than necessary. The flames crackled back to life, their glow making Elfhelm's expression seem even darker in comparison.

Éomund's daughter shook her head. Whatever was troubling the Marshal, it was quite beyond her means to figure out. She retreated to her pallet, which was safely between Cobryn's and those of the children, and slipped beneath her blankets. Although she was now significantly warmer than she had been before, her spirits were dampened as she remembered how comfortable her bed at home was.

_Like you ever spent much time in it,_ she criticized her melodramatic self. _How many nights were you driven from your room to gaze out across the plains of Rohan, to look up at the stars and beg for an end to your terrible dreams?_

Gúthwyn stared up at the sky, trying to find solace in the fact that these were the same stars shining over Edoras. Yet her heart was not at ease, and she reckoned there was something very different about seeing them in exile than seeing them from her home. She sighed, thinking of how quiet Rohan was at night. Right now, Elfwine would be sleeping in his little bed…

Her eyes suddenly blurred with hot tears, ones that she had tried to hold back since her plans for journeying to Ithilien had been confirmed. The image of her nephew resting peacefully haunted her; try though she might, she could not force it from her mind. She longed to hold him again, to tell him stories about Hobbits and play tag with him and the other children. What she would not give to walk home with him after a busy day, and to return him to Éomer…

The thought of her brother and his son, smiling and laughing and playing battle with tiny wooden figures together, was more than Gúthwyn could bear. She gasped quietly as tears cascaded down her cheeks, their force such that they could not be stopped—not even when she squeezed her eyes shut and dug her fists frantically into their lids.

Within seconds, her pillow was soaked.

* * *

><p>Elfhelm prowled the confines of the camp, hardly noticing the beauty of the stars above. He was too busy peering into the depths of the night, his hand clenched tightly around his sword. Every movement in the corner of his peripheral vision was cause for alarm, though more often than not it was a clump of grass swaying in the breeze. He eyed the mountains suspiciously, the forest worriedly.<p>

Always, King Éomer's warning hovered in the foreground of his mind. _"There have been recent reports of the remnants of Orc tribes making their homes in the White Mountains… A couple of travelers have been attacked… The Orcs are starved, desperate for whatever food they can get…"_

Elfhelm knew that even if they ran into Orcs on this journey, the creatures would be easily disposed of. He had witnessed the diminished quality of the Enemy in the years after Sauron's death, having fought with Éomer on numerous campaigns to rid the kingdoms of Men of Orcs, Uruk-hai, and goblins. Without a leader they had been vanquished effortlessly, and most of them were dead. Yet there were so many that they would never be completely eradicated, though the few who had survived were weak and could not possibly hope to pose a threat against the Free Peoples.

Unfortunately, the lady Gúthwyn's presence had turned what would have been a non-issue into a grave danger. When Éomer had pulled Elfhelm aside on the morning of their departure from Edoras, the fear in the king's eyes had been palpable. _"At all costs, protect my baby sister,"_ Éomer had urged, his shoulders tense with anxiety. _"Do not tell her of these rumors, for she will fret over the children's safety. Yet make sure that no harm comes to her—I would never forgive myself if something happened to Gúthwyn."_

Elfhelm frowned. The risks of traveling with a woman were high, and a lot worse could befall the king's sister than injury from an Orc blade. Unconsciously, his fists clenched. He knew Éomer was more concerned about this than he had let on, yet before they had had a chance to discuss the precautions to take Gúthwyn had wandered over and inquired as to what was troubling them.

More than anything, Elfhelm worried that Gúthwyn and Haiweth would leave the campsite—if only for a few minutes, if only for something as mundane as washing—and come upon Orcs. The king's sister could aptly defend herself, but she would be rendered helpless if one of the Orcs were smart enough to take Haiweth as a hostage. And then…

_Stop being foolish,_ Elfhelm chided himself, turning around to examine the inner circle of the campsite so he could prove to his overcautious half that Gúthwyn was perfectly safe. _Nothing will happen to her while she is under your protection._

That was when his gaze fell upon the pallet of the king's sister, which was completely devoid of a sleeping Gúthwyn. Elfhelm started, blinked rapidly to make sure his paranoid mind was not simply playing a trick on him, and then cursed. He had been so busy looking to the dark mountains and the menacing forest that he had not been paying attention to what was happening under his very nose—how could he have been so idiotic?

Quickly he strode to Gamling's pallet, waking up the captain of the guard with a sharp shake of the shoulders. "Gúthwyn has left the camp," he hissed at his friend. "I need you to—"

That was when he felt the cold blade of a knife pressed against his throat.

"Sorry," Gamling grunted a second later, lowering the dagger when his vision had cleared enough to make him realize that it was friend, not foe, disturbing him from his rest. Elfhelm hardly twitched, being familiar with this particular habit of the hardened soldier. "What did you say? Gúthwyn is where?"

"Gone," Elfhelm said urgently. He barely gave Gamling enough time to widen his eyes in shock before continuing, "I need you to take guard duty while I search for her. She cannot have gone far—I had my back turned to her for but a minute—yet I do not want to leave the others defenseless."

"Of course," Gamling immediately agreed, springing to his feet. "I am surprised she wandered off like that…" Per Éomer's orders, Gúthwyn had been instructed to inform either Elfhelm or Gamling whenever she left the camp to relieve herself, wash, or dress. Although the king's sister had initially protested that measures such as these were absurd and better-suited for a child, she had grudgingly conceded to alert someone before disappearing.

"She clearly does not think safety is a concern," Elfhelm muttered as he strode away from the campsite. Thankfully he had the light of the stars and moon to guide him, and he did not have to waste time making a torch. And luckily, there was only one direction in which Gúthwyn could have gone. With the exception of a small cluster of hills and rocks nearby, the rest of their surroundings were flat. Since Elfhelm could not see her on the plains, she had obviously sought shelter amongst the mounds and stones.

He walked hastily towards the hills, but once the ground began sloping his pace slackened. If, after all, Gúthwyn had simply forgotten to inform him that she was going to relieve herself, he did not want to stumble across the act and embarrass the two of them. As he crept closer to a group of rocks, a steady stream of irritated monologue ran through his head.

_I cannot believe she would be so careless,_ he thought in annoyance. _She is hardly sheltered; she of all people should know that it is not safe to be wandering alone in strange lands!_ Although they were still in Rohan, the outer boundaries of the realm were not patrolled as carefully as the plains surrounding Edoras—it would be all too easy for a few straggling Orcs to slip past the eyes of the border scouts.

Then again, the king's sister had the disastrous combination of being headstrong and entirely unaware of the report Éomer had given Elfhelm. Not only was she unlikely to be obedient and keep the Marshal informed of her whereabouts at all times, but she probably assumed that she was completely safe and that no harm could come to her when she was so close to the camp.

At that moment, Elfhelm heard something that made him stop in his tracks. It was a sharp inhale, a hitch in someone's breath. He listened for the dribbling of urine upon the ground, but there was nothing. If it was the lady Gúthwyn, she was not attending to a personal matter—and therefore approachable. But if someone else was there…

His fingers curling around the hilt of his sword, Elfhelm drew closer to the source of the noise. The perpetrator was behind the cluster of boulders. As the gap between him and the stones narrowed, he realized that the strange sounds were quiet, feminine sobs. Elfhelm tensed, for a moment wondering if he should not just leave Gúthwyn alone. Yet compassion overcame hesitancy, and he rounded the shoulder of the rocks.

There he saw a wretched scene. Gúthwyn was curled up into a tiny little ball, her face buried in her knees and her body shuddering as she cried. Never before had Elfhelm seen a more miserable person—and never before had he witnessed so much as a single tear slide down Lady Gúthwyn's cheek. Now there were more than he could count.

"Gúthwyn?" he asked quietly, kneeling down beside her.

The king's sister gasped in terror; her head snapped up and she stared wildly around, searching for the disturber of the peace. When her frightened eyes fell upon Elfhelm, her face drained of color and she made a futile attempt to wipe away her tears.

"E-Elfhelm," she whispered, clearly trying and failing to keep her voice from trembling. "W-What are you… Why a-a-are you here?"

The Marshal did not consider himself a particularly sensitive man, but his heart stirred at the sight of Gúthwyn in such distress. "You left the encampment," he reminded her gently. "I was worried and set out to find you. What is wrong?"

"N-Nothing," Gúthwyn lied shakily, straining to pull a weak smile.

Elfhelm almost laughed at her determination to feign normalcy, when it was quite evident that she was devastated about something. "I saw you crying," he pointed out softly.

Gúthwyn frantically shook her head, looking mortified when a few stray tears leaked from the corners of her eyes. "It is nothing," she insisted, practically choking on her words. At Elfhelm's reproving expression, she reluctantly elaborated. "It is just… I-I miss home already."

This did not surprise Elfhelm. He had known that Gúthwyn's departure—which he and just about everyone in Edoras blamed on Queen Lothíriel—would be difficult for her, if Éomer's foul mood in the preceding weeks had been any sort of indicator. It had always been obvious, even to the most casual of observers, that her love for Rohan and its people ran deep. Most of her family, or what little was left of it, resided there, as well as nearly all of her friends, and her bonds with them were strong.

"I never wanted to leave," the king's sister now confessed, rubbing her fists into her eyes when they shone again with wetness. "R-Rohan is the only place in w-which I desire to l-live. I-I miss e-everyone so much… I w-would give a-a-anything to see Éomer again, a-and little Elfwine…" Her voice broke, and she dissolved into tears.

Without thinking twice, Elfhelm put a comforting arm around her. At first Gúthwyn stiffened, giving him a horror-filled moment in which he realized how bold the gesture was, but then she deflated and did not move away. "I-I am so sorry," she muttered, hardly able to talk through her weeping. "I-I should not be… y-you do not have to…" She was clearly struggling to bring herself under control, yet she was utterly failing.

Elfhelm shushed her. "Do not be ashamed," he said, wishing he knew how to comfort her better. Apart from his sister Brytta, there were few women in his life; he was unsure of how to treat situations like this, especially when a lady of Gúthwyn's status was involved. "It is natural to miss your home and family. When soldiers are gravely wounded, many beg not for a healer but for their mothers."

The second the words were out of his mouth he winced, remembering too late that Théodwyn was dead. Yet Gúthwyn either did not make the connection or did not mind; she gave a trembling smile that quickly faded. "E-Elfwine is such a w-w-wonderful child," she whispered, her chest rapidly rising and falling. "I f-feel so h-_horrible_ for abandoning him… N-Now I will be lucky i-i-if I see him in a year!" Her sobs increased; before long, she could not speak.

Elfhelm held her as she cried, not knowing what else to do. It pained him to see her so unhappy, especially given all that she had already suffered. His heart clenched as Gúthwyn whimpered something incomprehensible about Elfwine; he thought of his own nephew, Heahtor, and of how much he would miss the child's laughter and antics if they were separated.

Gradually, Gúthwyn's tears slowed. Her breathing also regained a normal pace, and she was leaning more on Elfhelm than ever. When the Marshal carefully pushed her hair, which had fallen in a curtain across her face, to the side, he realized that she was asleep. Part of him was relieved: he was unused to seeing the king's sister this vulnerable, and lurking in the back of his mind had been the fear that he might say the wrong thing or somehow augment her misery.

Carefully gathering her in his arms, Elfhelm rose to his feet. She was as light as Heahtor, he noticed in alarm. Perhaps even lighter. And yet he had heard from Éomer that her eating habits had improved, and that she had gained weight. This was to be deemed progress? Alas, however—it was none of his business. He forced his speculation to a halt.

When he returned to the camp, Gamling came racing over. "What happened?" he demanded anxiously. "You were gone for so long, I was about to wake everyone and muster a search party… Is Lady Gúthwyn ill?"

"I am sorry for causing such worry," Elfhelm apologized, genuinely remorseful: if he had been in Gamling's place, he would probably have driven himself mad with panic. "Nay, she is not sick—at least, not of the body. Homesick, more likely; she will be all right." He did not tell the captain of how she had wept, for she would have been mortified if he had done so.

"That is good," Gamling said gruffly, averting his eyes from Gúthwyn's limp figure. "You should bring her back to her bed."

"That is what I was about to do," Elfhelm replied, arching an eyebrow. He had noticed recently that something had changed in Gamling's behavior towards Gúthwyn. The captain frequently seemed embarrassed to be in the presence of the king's sister, similar to the way he had reacted when the king's sister kindly refused his marriage proposal.

_Perhaps he has been reminiscing of late,_ Elfhelm thought as he thanked the captain for watching the camp in the Marshal's absence and bade him return to his sleep. _Or perhaps something else has happened that I am not aware of._

After all, he mused, bringing Gúthwyn to her pallet and covering her with blankets, it was entirely possible that he was not the only one who had a secret about the king's sister.


	33. Through the Firienwood

**Rainbow:** I understand your point about the word "okay" - I hesitated before using it, but then I decided that because Elfwine is a child, he could use "slang" words (not to mention contractions) before he learned to properly speak. It's a bit of a grey area!

**Hiril Isilme:** Don't worry, I haven't forgotten about Éomer and Lothíriel! Their story isn't over yet.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Thirty-Three<strong>

Shortly after noon on the following day, the entourage bringing Gúthwyn to Ithilien stopped to rest for lunch. They were now in the Firienwood, the forest through which Éomund's daughter had officially left Rohan and entered the Gondorian province called Anórien. The last border between these two realms was a small tributary of the river Entwash, known to the Rohirrim as the Mering Stream and the Gondorians as the Glanhir. The company had forded it easily mid-morning, but to Gúthwyn it was the hardest crossing she had ever undergone. For now she could no longer call her surroundings home, and the hall of Meduseld seemed more distant than ever.

"Here you are, my lady!"

Hunwald's cheerful voice brought her back to Middle-earth. Éomund's daughter looked up with a smile, which then faltered upon seeing what he had in his hands: a large plate of whatever meat he and the other guards had managed to catch for their meal.

Before Hunwald noticed her revulsion, Gúthwyn hitched the grin back onto her face and thanked him as she accepted her share. "That was really thoughtful of you," she said sincerely—even though she could have done without the gesture. "I appreciate it."

Hunwald beamed, momentarily making Gúthwyn feel better about lying to him. "This forest is incredible," he remarked, gazing around him in awe. They were eating right on the road, as there were no clearings big enough to hold the company. "It reminds me of the trees that came to the Battle of Helm's Deep—I hope these do not attack us!"

Gúthwyn laughed, relieved that the conversation gave her an excuse not to touch her lunch. "That would be most unsettling," she agreed, surveying the growth around them. The Firienwood was not terribly large, as far as woodlands went; twenty miles across at its widest point seemed vast, but Fangorn Forest was by far the greater. And that was to say nothing of Eryn Lasgalen, represented on maps by enormous splotches of green.

"You met one of those trees, did you not?" Hunwald asked curiously. "Éomer used to talk about an Ent who led the attack on Isengard."

"His name was Treebeard," Gúthwyn replied with a nod. "He must have been close to fifteen feet tall."

Hunwald's eyes widened, and he was eagerly drinking in her every word. Noting this, Éomund's daughter grinned and patted the ground beside her. "Please, sit," she invited, surreptitiously lowering her plate and sliding it a couple of inches away from her. "You seem interested in the Ents. Did your parents tell you stories about them when you were a child?"

Looking sheepish, the younger man sat down and leaned against a tree trunk. "They did," he confirmed. "I always loved hearing about them. I even learned my letters so I could read books about them. Unfortunately, not many have been written."

"I am sure more will be soon," Gúthwyn assured him, "especially since they played such an important role in the War. Without them, the Battle of Helm's Deep would have been lost and Saruman could have held out long in Orthanc."

Hunwald agreed emphatically. "Is it true that their speech is slow? Éomer described listening to it as an excellent method for putting oneself to sleep."

Gúthwyn chuckled, hardly surprised that her brother had said something like that. "Treebeard certainly took his time whenever he spoke," she admitted. "It is too bad that you did not get a chance to hear him—I could not even begin to describe the sound. Actually," she said, suddenly inspired, "remind me to introduce you to a Halfling called Meriadoc Brandybuck." She could not help but smirk at how formal Merry's full name sounded, and she felt obligated to correct herself. "He prefers Merry. He and another Halfling, Peregrin Took—Pippin, really—spent several days in Treebeard's company. They are much better sources of information about the Ents."

"Merry?" Hunwald echoed, knitting his brow. "The same Halfling who is a squire of Rohan?"

Gúthwyn nodded eagerly. "He has not yet returned to the Mark, but when he does I will ensure that the two of you meet." _If I am there when he does,_ she could not help but think.

"Th-Thank you, my lady," Hunwald stammered, looking both shocked and immensely gratified. "You do not have to, really—"

"I would love to," Gúthwyn said sincerely. "Merry—"

"Hunwald!"

Hunwald gave a guilty start as Elfhelm barked out his name from across the road. "Yes, sir?" he asked quickly, scrambling to his feet.

"Go into the woods with Éothain and scout out our surroundings," Elfhelm ordered, stabbing a finger in the direction of the trees. "And stop harassing Lady Gúthwyn!"

"I hope I have not gotten you into trouble," Éomund's daughter whispered as Hunwald swallowed. "And you certainly have not been harassing me," she added, though quietly so that the Marshal could not hear.

"Do not worry, my lady," Hunwald said, adjusting the quiver that was slung across his back. "Between you and me," he grumbled querulously, lowering his voice, "Elfhelm has been in a bad mood this entire journey."

Gúthwyn sighed as Hunwald walked away; as the young man met up with Éothain and then disappeared into the woods, she turned her gaze to the Marshal. What was wrong with him? Normally Elfhelm was wonderful to be around, but ever since they had set foot on the road he had been uptight. No, uptight was not adequate enough to describe how tense her friend had become lately.

_There could not have been a report of Orcs nearby, could there have been?_ she asked herself, Cobryn's suspicions replaying in her mind. They were certainly traveling alongside the White Mountains, where such creatures could easily conceal themselves; indeed, had a solid line of trees not been blocking her view, she would have been able to see the peak of the Halifirien, where the westernmost beacon between Rohan and Gondor was stationed.

_But Éomer and Aragorn got rid of all the Orcs,_ she thought, remembering the days when she had ruled in her brother's stead while he was off to war with King Elessar. _Surely there can be none left!_

"Need to dispose of that?"

Cobryn appeared before her, nodding at the meat she had set aside.

"Thank you," Gúthwyn responded, sighing gratefully as she handed the plate to him. He sat down where Hunwald had once been, grinning as he relieved her of the meal. "I did not want to have to throw it away, for the men went to such trouble to prepare it…"

"But you did not want to eat it," Cobryn finished for her, smirking.

"Right," Gúthwyn agreed, grimacing as her friend dug his teeth into the meat. "Thank the Valar I brought enough bread to last me the trip."

"Thank yourself," she could have sworn Cobryn muttered darkly, though his mouth was full and she was not entirely sure she had heard him right. She was about to ask him to repeat what he had said when a shadow fell across her face.

"How are you today?" Elfhelm inquired, examining her closely.

"Fine," Gúthwyn answered, her cheeks turning red. She still could not believe she had bawled like a child in front of the Marshal—what had gotten into her? Over _homesickness_, no less. Considering Elfhelm had traveled to the Black Gates and even as far as Harad under Éomer's command, he probably thought she was pathetic. Why could she not have just hidden her tears, or at least have prevented herself from sobbing a second time?

And then, as if she had not embarrassed herself enough in front of her friend, she had cried herself to sleep on his shoulder! She had woken up on her pallet the next morning, so he must have carried her back. Had he told any of the other soldiers about her weakness? Did they all secretly think less of her now, and expect her to fall apart again?

Yet Elfhelm's gaze held nothing but pity as he pressed, "Are you sure?"

"Yes, thank you," Gúthwyn replied, squirming under the quizzical look Cobryn was giving her. Needing to change the subject, she seized the first topic that came to mind. "Really, Elfhelm, Hunwald was not bothering me." _Not as much as I must have annoyed you last night,_ she thought miserably. "Indeed, I invited him to sit with me."

The Marshal's expression was stern, but the next minute he sighed. "Nay, he is one of the better scouts we have," he informed her, "thanks to his skill with a bow and his eyesight. I would have made him go even if he had not been discussing trees with you."

"Speaking of Hunwald," Cobryn said, pointing towards the edge of the road, "there he is again."

"What?" Elfhelm demanded, whirling around. "He has hardly been gone for—"

"Elfhelm!" Hunwald called, his face taut. He was carrying something black in his hands; Éothain followed closely behind, bearing a crooked dagger. "Look at what we found!"

The Marshal was at his side practically before he had finished speaking. The other men, including Hammel, noticed the disturbance and gathered around the returning scouts. After exchanging a glance, Gúthwyn and Cobryn got to their feet and joined the small crowd.

"Orcs," Éothain spat, showing the blade to Elfhelm and Gamling. "The Eye is on the hilt, see?"

There was a collective growl amongst the Rohirrim as the all too familiar symbol of the Enemy was revealed. "There was a campsite not half a mile from here—the fire was out, but the earth beneath it still warm!"

Gúthwyn's eyes widened as Elfhelm began immediately barking out orders. "Every man must be armed and at the ready," he commanded. "We will proceed down the road, but we must be prepared for an ambush. Hunwald, Éothain, I want you to watch the forest. Any sign of movement, shoot. Gamling, Cobryn, keep Gúthwyn surrounded at all times. Gúthwyn, do not argue with me. Hunwald, what is that in your hands?"

"Dead Orc," Hunwald scowled as most of the men scattered, running for their equipment. He was clutching a foul slab of meat that was hideously black and pitted. "There were signs of a struggle at the camp. It looks like one of them killed another and then started eating him. Only an Orc could have flesh this color, except for maybe an Uruk-hai—but I doubt an Orc would be able to kill one of them outright."

Hunwald's speculation faded into the background as Gúthwyn gaped in horror at the meat, unable to tear her eyes away from it. As revolting memories smothered her, she could not bring herself to admit it: that this was what she had been fed all those years in Mordor, that without realizing it she had feasted on dead Orcs. No one, not even Borogor, had ever told her…

When at last she looked up, it was to see Hammel watching her. Her breath caught in her throat—he knew. He had always known. And now his stare was full of pity; scornful pity, even. As their eyes locked, he asked quietly, "What did you _think_ it was?"

To her horror, Gúthwyn felt another wave of tears threatening to spill onto her cheeks. This could not be happening. It had to have been a cruel joke. She had not spent the better part of three years on a diet of Orcs. She had not consumed the festering flesh of those horrible creatures, nor had she eaten her own Orc-flavored vomit. She… she was going to be sick.

Yet before she could turn around and retch into the nearest bush, a hand clamped down on her shoulder. "Gúthwyn, get to your horse," Elfhelm instructed her, his grip on her so tight that it was painful. When she did not move, he shook her. "Now, Gúthwyn!" he exclaimed sharply. "Move!"

Mortified, Gúthwyn struggled to do as he bid. She had gone only a few paces when she turned back to look at Hammel, but the young man was no longer paying attention to her. Instead he was surveying the encampment, his eyes growing more panicked by the second. Éomund's daughter frowned, a sinking feeling emerging in her own gut.

Although there was a great deal of commotion nearby, it seemed as if Hammel's voice floated above the crowd when he demanded, "Where is Haiweth?"

A horrible, awful silence fell upon the men.

"Where is Haiweth?" Hammel repeated frantically as Gúthwyn spun around, praying that she would see the girl half-hidden behind a horse.

"Sh-She was here while we were making the fire," Eohric finally volunteered, ashen-faced. Even Elfhelm seemed to be at a loss for words.

"She may have gone off to relieve herself without telling anyone," Cobryn suggested, ever the logical thinker. "I am sure she—"

At that moment, a scream shattered the quiet. A terrified, feminine scream.

Gúthwyn bolted. She had reached Sceoh and was withdrawing her sword from his side before the guards noticed what she was doing, and by then it was too late for them to hinder her.

"Stop!" Elfhelm yelled at her as she dashed across the road, practically throwing herself at the first line of trees. Gamling lunged for her and missed; she sidestepped Ecgulf and disappeared into the forest, praying that she would reach Haiweth in time. "Gúthwyn, are you out of your mind?"

Éomund's daughter ignored him. She was several yards into the woods when the first of the soldiers entered in hot pursuit, making it absolutely imperative that she outrun them. "Haiweth!" she called as she went, not caring if every Orc in Middle-earth heard her. She would cut them all down if she had to, for it was death to stand between her and her child. "Haiweth, where are you?"

At first there was no reply, and she hesitated. Where to run?

Those few seconds were valuable time, wasted. "Gúthwyn, get back to the camp!" one of the men, most likely Elfhelm, ordered her. His voice was getting louder. "It is not safe for you to be out here!"

Gúthwyn made her decision and broke out into a sprint, heading towards where she and Haiweth had gone earlier to wash themselves. Gamling had discovered the brook about a quarter of a mile or so into the forest, and it was the only place she could think of where Haiweth might have ventured. She was rewarded an instant later—yet utterly petrified—when a shrill shriek rang out.

"Haiweth, hold on!" Éomund's daughter cried, thankful she had slipped a dagger into one of her boots. It was not as sharp as the blade Lady Galadriel of Lothlórien had given her, which had been confiscated from her when she was thrown into a Mordor prison and was now lost forever, but it would do if one of the Orcs disarmed her. "I am coming!" She could not fail Haiweth. She would not. The consequences if she did…

It was not the first time Gúthwyn had thrown up while running, but the horrid taste in her mouth was almost more than she could bear when accompanied by her paralyzing fears about what could be happening to Haiweth at that moment. What if the Orcs were so hungry that they were cutting her child apart, limb by limb, and gorging on her flesh while it was still warm? What if they wanted sport, and…

"Please," Gúthwyn begged the Valar, tears of terror and exertion beginning to slide down her cheeks, "please kill her before it comes to that!" Haiweth could never know the humiliation, the pain, the nightmares that Éomund's daughter had suffered for over a decade. Never.

After what felt like hours, Gúthwyn heard the sound of rushing water. When at last she broke through the trees and emerged onto the northern bank of the stream, she had to look for only a second before she saw Haiweth. The girl was about sixty feet to her right, her back pressed against a small trunk. She was shaking so much that the branches above her were quivering. A skeleton-thin Orc was advancing upon her, unaware of Gúthwyn's appearance, a gleaming blade in his hand.

"Looks as if my boys will be having lunch after all," the Orc cackled triumphantly as Haiweth cowered in front of him and began sobbing.

"Touch her and die!" Gúthwyn roared, her voice filling the narrow clearing. As the creature turned around to face her, she leaped towards him. "Haiweth, get out of the way!" she shouted as she bore down upon the suddenly nervous Orc, determined to kill him.

"Gúthwyn, _watch out_!" Haiweth screamed, a second before a searing pain shot through Gúthwyn's left shoulder. Éomund's daughter did not slow down, though she gasped in shock; whatever had just happened, it could wait until she rescued her child. The Orc raised his blade as she approached, but he was no match for the wrath that was blazing through Gúthwyn's veins.

She dimly heard the sounds of the other men rushing into the clearing as she engaged in a furious duel with the Orc. The creature looked as if he had not had a decent meal in months; he was rasping as he defended Gúthwyn's attacks, and more than once he spat out revolting black fluids. Éomund's daughter had no pity for him, and in fact took pleasure in spotting an opening in his guard and goring him through the stomach.

Haiweth shrieked, but when Gúthwyn turned frantically toward her she was not being assaulted by a different Orc. The girl was staring in horror as the Orc's guts spilled out of its belly, despite the monster's panicked attempts to hold them in with his hands.

"Not so fast," Gúthwyn snarled, lunging forward. The thought came to her to cut off both of his arms, one at a time so as to draw out the agony for him, but then she remembered Haiweth and stopped. If she did that, she would be no better than the Uruk-hai who had slaughtered the children's father. Thrak, the Uruk captain, had hacked off the man's limbs before stabbing him to death—Hammel and Haiweth had witnessed everything.

Determined not to make that mistake, Gúthwyn contemplated for a second and then delivered a swift beheading. The Orc collapsed, his blood staining the ground black. Remorseless, Éomund's daughter kicked him out of the way and crossed the last couple of yards separating her and Haiweth. "Are you hurt?" she demanded, embracing the girl tightly. As she did so, her left shoulder screamed in protest.

"N-No," Haiweth whimpered, crying softly. "But…" She pulled back from Éomund's daughter. "_You_ are."

Gúthwyn looked down at herself. As the pain in her shoulder multiplied, she realized that she had been shot. A poorly-crafted Orkish arrow was protruding from her skin, creating agony whenever she moved in the slightest. If the Orc she had slain had not done this to her, however, then…

She swerved around, ignoring the throbbing sensation in her shoulder. Yet she did not have to use Framwine a second time: the soldiers who had run out onto the banks of the stream after her were dispatching of a small group of Orcs. One of the creatures lay facedown in the water, his bow floating alongside him.

"Gúthwyn!" Elfhelm shouted, sprinting over to her. He barely glanced at Haiweth, who was hovering nervously next to Éomund's daughter. "Hunwald shot the whoreson who did this to you," he snarled, examining the shaft that was sticking out from her flesh. "Eohric!"

"Yes?" called a young Rider in the process of pulling his spear out of an Orc. None of the Enemy's creatures remained alive; their bodies were being dragged into a heap by the Rohirrim.

"Bring one of the Orkish arrows to me," Elfhelm ordered, his face taut as he examined Gúthwyn's wound. "What were you thinking?" he interrogated her furiously. "If Hunwald had not seen that Orc hiding behind a tree, he would have slain you! Do you have any idea of how much danger you were in? And you!" he exclaimed, now glaring at Haiweth.

The child jumped, quailing before the irate Marshal. "What were _you_ thinking?" Elfhelm wanted to know. "Sneaking off into the woods without telling anyone where you were going—you foolish girl, you could have gotten yourself and the king's sister killed!"

"Stop it," Gúthwyn hissed, stepping between the Marshal and the now weeping Haiweth. "Leave her alone! Can you not see that she has had enough for one day?"

Elfhelm desisted with a muttered apology, but not before giving Haiweth a last reproving stare. "We need to get you back to the camp. I left all of my healing supplies there, and that wound cannot wait until we reach Ithilien."

"Here you are, my lord," Eohric announced, appearing just behind the Marshal. When Elfhelm turned around, Eohric held out the arrow. It was a crude instrument: the fletching was matted, the shaft was warped, and signs of rust were starting to show on the point. Gúthwyn winced, hoping that the projectile currently making her shoulder feel as if it were on fire had not yet started decaying.

"A-Are you all right, my lady?" Eohric asked tentatively, seemingly unable to take his eyes off of the arrow embedded in her.

"A little sore," Gúthwyn lied through her teeth. "I will be fine."

"Let us hope you will," Elfhelm growled. "Eohric, go back to the campsite and tell Gamling to prepare for our return. The fire should be rekindled, a pallet set up for Lady Gúthwyn, and my medicine bag placed beside it. We also need someone to start bringing water to the camp. Take Éothain with you—I think we have all learned that it is not safe to be wandering around on our own." He shot Gúthwyn a pointed look, which she just as pointedly ignored.

Once Eohric scampered off, the Marshal addressed Éomund's daughter. "We have to get you back," he declared, surveying their surroundings. "I will—"

"Come, Haiweth, let us go together," Gúthwyn suggested, putting her non-injured arm around the girl. The other limb made what would have been a simple maneuver almost unbearably difficult.

"Absolutely not," Elfhelm said sharply, his fingers turning white as they curled around the shaft of the Orkish arrow. "You are staying right here until my men and I build a stretcher for you."

"A _stretcher_?" Gúthwyn echoed incredulously. "Do not be ridiculous, Elfhelm, I am perfectly capable of walking back under my own power. I am not seriously wounded!"

Elfhelm closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and appeared to be counting to ten before he looked at her again. "Have you ever been hit by an arrow?"

"No," Gúthwyn replied, "but—"

"Then clearly you know nothing of how easily such a wound can become infected," Elfhelm snapped. "It is quite likely that you will die if you do not receive proper treatment, and I for one am not going to be the person to tell Éomer that you perished on a five-day journey to Ithilien. Unless you want to risk opening up that hole further and exposing even more of your flesh to infection, you will have to remain as still as possible. Walking back to the encampment is out of the question."

Éomund's daughter swallowed, praying that she would not meet so ignoble an end as to be slain by an Orc arrow long after the Enemy had been vanquished. All the same, Elfhelm's demeanor was hard to endure gracefully.

To make matters worse, after the Marshal ordered the men still in the small clearing to gather wood for a stretcher, he started to berate her again in front of Haiweth. "Were you at all paying attention to Éothain and Hunwald when they found evidence of Orcs inhabiting the forest?" he interrogated her angrily. "Did you even once consider the danger you were putting yourself in when you ran into the woods alone? What happened today was not a game, Gúthwyn. You could have easily been cut down by one of those creatures, or—"

Gúthwyn had had enough. Reaching out and grabbing a fistful of the Marshal's tunic with her right hand, she yanked the man towards her before he had a chance to stop her. "Do you think any of that is important to me?" she snarled, shaking him a little. "Do you think I care about risking my life when it comes to Hammel and Haiweth? You should know, Elfhelm—if that had been Heahtor, you would have outrun us all to get to him. How dare you suggest that this was a game to me? That Orc could have rape—"

Suddenly Éomund's daughter became very aware that Haiweth was still standing there, watching her in shock. She slowly released Elfhelm, not daring to continue her tirade. "Forget it," she said hollowly, embarrassed. "I should not have…"

"Nay, I am sorry," Elfhelm replied, sighing as he ran his fingers through his hair. "I cannot believe I am agreeing with you, but you are right. I would have done the same for my nephew."

"My lord?" someone called then, causing the three of them to look over. Ecgulf gestured towards the stretcher he and a couple of the guards had hastily lashed together out of boughs from the nearby trees. Someone's cloak lay over the frame, providing the slightest bit of cushioning. "It is not much," Ecgulf apologized, "but it is the best we could do."

Elfhelm appraised the men's handiwork with a quick nod. "Bring it over here," he commanded.

The soldiers hastened to obey. Gúthwyn attempted to conceal her skepticism as she examined the stretcher they were holding, wondering if it would support her weight. "There is a space here for her shoulder," Ecgulf explained, pointing to a gap in the framework.

"Gúthwyn, sit down carefully," Elfhelm instructed.

Éomund's daughter reluctantly did as she was told. Then she tried not to cringe when Elfhelm placed his hands on her back, explaining that he would help guide her shoulder to the proper place. The pain was making her breaths shallow, but thankfully her eyes were not watering. Yet.

When she was fully laid out on the stretcher—though not before Elfhelm insisted on folding his cloak and using it as a pillow for her head—the guards started moving carefully back into the forest. No longer having anything to keep her mind off the agony, Gúthwyn found that she was sweating and gripping the edge of the stretcher as tightly as her right hand could squeeze.

Relieved to see that Haiweth was walking alongside the guards, Gúthwyn gritted her teeth and prayed that the arrow wound would not become infected. Having already had a similar experience with the Warg bite that had once scarred her face, she did not want to go through that particular brand of torture again. She had been delirious for days, her misery augmented by the fact that they were in Lothlórien—a forest home to the Elves.

At last they came back to the camp. Out of the corner of her eye, Éomund's daughter witnessed Hammel sprinting over and embracing Haiweth so fiercely that the girl nearly fell over. From the muffled conversation she heard between the siblings, she gathered that Cobryn had forcibly restrained Hammel from lunging into the forest. They were not the only ones who had remained behind: Elfhelm had apparently ordered some of the soldiers to stay at the encampment, guarding against an attack on the defenseless horses.

"Gúthwyn, I need you to sit up so we can put this stretcher on the ground," the Marshal was saying now, his concerned face a couple of feet above hers. Éomund's daughter gingerly complied, flinching when she used her left hand to prop herself up out of habit. Around her, the guards' brows were lined with concentration as they gently lowered the stretcher onto the earth.

Once they were done and Gúthwyn's right side was leaning against a tree, Elfhelm dismissed the soldiers. Now that she was no longer surrounded by a thicket of warriors' legs, Gúthwyn noticed all of the healing supplies that were on the ground nearby. She frowned when her eyes fell upon a strange-looking instrument that she had never seen before. It was made out of metal, with a long, thin handle and what appeared to be a miniscule axe head on top. "What is that?" she asked curiously.

Elfhelm either did not hear her or was ignoring her. He studiously examined her wound, lightly prodding here and there. Gúthwyn winced each time he did so, wishing he would stop. She felt like an idiot sitting there with an arrow poking out of her shoulder, right where all the men who were pretending not to glance over every five seconds could observe the slightest signs of her discomfort.

Mercifully, Cobryn materialized in front of her as if he had been pulled from thin air—or simply detected her need for companionship. "How are you?" he asked, crouching down opposite Elfhelm.

"Fine," Gúthwyn answered, though she gasped the next instant when Elfhelm touched the ruined flesh with his fingertips. "Elfhelm—"

"Éothain, bring me some ale!" the Marshal called across the camp, prompting the captain to go rooting through his belongings. When at last he produced a flagon, he hurried over to the Marshal.

"Here you are," he said, handing it to Elfhelm. "Do you need anything else?"

"Will you find whoever brought water from the stream and tell them to start boiling it?" Elfhelm requested. As Éothain nodded and ran off, Gúthwyn found herself being given the mead. "Drink this," Elfhelm told her.

Éomund's daughter wrinkled her nose. "No, thank you," she replied. She had learned years ago that she could not hold her liquor, and she did not even like the taste to begin with.

"You are going to want that," Cobryn warned her. "It will help to take the edge off."

Gúthwyn frowned. "What edge?" she inquired.

Cobryn and Elfhelm exchanged glances. "The arrow did not break through the other side of your shoulder," the Marshal informed her, "but judging from this one"—he held up the duplicate that Eohric had scavenged for him—"it very nearly did. Therefore, the easiest way to get it out will be to push it through the rest of your shoulder, snap off the tip, and then extract the arrow from behind."

"_What_?" Gúthwyn cried. "Are you mad? Why not just pull it out the way it came in?"

"Because," Elfhelm explained impatiently, "if the arrow rotated even the slightest, using that technique would tear up your shoulder all over again. This"—he pointed to the bigger end of the arrowhead—"would not only carve out a new path in your flesh, but it would also hurt. A lot."

"As opposed to creating a peephole through my shoulder?" Gúthwyn retorted.

"Trust me," Elfhelm responded, "the arrow is too far in to simply yank it back out. Now, drink."

Gúthwyn shook her head, pushing the flagon away from her. "I can deal with the pain," she insisted.

Cobryn sighed in exasperation. "No one here will think less of you if you choose to numb yourself beforehand," he reminded her. "It has been said that Gamling downs as much mead as he can when he has an injury that needs to be tended to."

"Gamling will seize any excuse to drink," Gúthwyn pointed out with a tight smile, "no offense to him."

"If you must do this without ale," Elfhelm said, "I would suggest having something to bite or dig your nails into—for it will hurt."

Without a word, Cobryn held out his hand. As Elfhelm adjusted his position so that he was at a better angle to perform the procedure, Gúthwyn clasped palms with her friend and held on tightly. Although most of her attention was focused her shoulder, she saw that all of the men in the camp were scrutinizing her. They were waiting for her reaction: would she cry? Would she faint? Would she scream? Would she do what was expected of a woman?

Elfhelm called for water. Instantly, buckets were brought to their side. When Elfhelm thanked Gamling and Éothain for their assistance, the soldiers only backed up a few paces. Gúthwyn could feel their eyes upon her, and she determinedly avoided looking at them. Instead, she sought out Hammel and Haiweth.

She was not surprised to see Hammel off to the side, staring intently at her. Haiweth was next to him, yet the girl's face was as white as a sheet and she was gazing fixedly at the ground. Gúthwyn wanted to reach out to her, but with one of her shoulders pierced by an arrow and her opposite hand in Cobryn's grasp she was powerless to do so.

"On the count of three," Elfhelm said, his voice sounding very far away. "One… two… three!"

An instant later, Gúthwyn's agony reached torturous levels as the Marshal pushed the arrow all the way through her shoulder. She drew in a sharp breath, clutching at Cobryn's hand as if she were dangling over a precipice and he was the only one at the edge who could save her. Hyperaware of the guards' presences, however, she refused to show any other signs of hurting.

Quick as a flash, Elfhelm broke off the arrowhead and yanked the shaft back through her shoulder. For a moment, Gúthwyn thought she would be ill. Nearly dizzy with pain, she slumped against the tree and watched beneath fluttering eyelids as the Marshal practically dumped a bucket of hot water over her left limb. Despite the fact that it was nearly scalding, the sensation registered only as a mere discomfort.

"Thank the Valar you have no sleeves," Elfhelm muttered to himself, producing a roll of bandages.

"Hot out," Gúthwyn mumbled, trying to explain why she had opted for a tunic instead of her riding gown. "I—"

"Stop talking," Cobryn ordered her. "Conserve your energy."

Gúthwyn briefly contemplated protesting, then decided it was not worth the effort. She remained silent as Elfhelm placed a wad of cloth that had been folded into a thick square onto the original arrow wound, then began wrapping a fresh roll around her entire shoulder. Blood soaked through the first few layers of bandages, but before long she could only see white.

"There," Elfhelm said several rags later, carefully tying the last one off. "Let us hope these hold until the evening."

"What if they do not?" Gúthwyn asked groggily, her hand slipping out of Cobryn's. She felt horrible when she saw that his fingers were black and blue and bleeding; had she really squeezed that hard?

Elfhelm's expression was grim. "Then your injury could be more serious than it looks, and we might have to turn to… other methods."

"Other methods?" Gúthwyn repeated, confused. "Like what?"

Again, Cobryn and the Marshal shared a dark glance. "You might as well tell her," Cobryn said.

Elfhelm sighed and picked up the metal instrument that had caught Gúthwyn's interest. "You were inquiring about this earlier," he reminded her. "It is used for cauterizing wounds."

Gúthwyn's eyes, which had started to slowly close, flared open. "Cauterizing?" she echoed, suddenly fearful. "You mean, branding?" Suddenly the Mark of Sauron on her wrist seemed to throb.

"Not exactly," Elfhelm answered. "It is used only as a last resort, because while it is effective in stopping heavy blood flow it is also exceedingly painful—not to mention scarring."

Éomund's daughter gulped. Regardless of what Elfhelm was saying, the idea of heating up that metal instrument and pressing it against her shoulder sounded an awful lot like branding to her. "I-I would rather not," she announced.

"I pray it will not come to that," Elfhelm replied seriously. "If you can make it to nightfall without bleeding through your bandages, that will be a good sign that the wound will not require such drastic measures. Unfortunately, we cannot linger in the forest for you to rest it. We must move on, or risk another attack. Éothain did not think that there were many Orcs in the camp that he and Hunwald discovered, but one never knows."

"I will be fine," Gúthwyn responded, grinding her teeth together in pain. "Thank you for everything."

"Do not thank me until it is certain that I have done a good job in healing you," Elfhelm reprimanded her. "Anything could still happen."

"If you need to give the men orders, I can help Gúthwyn get to her horse," Cobryn offered.

"That would be excellent," Elfhelm told him. "And if you could ride alongside her in case she weakens, that would be even better."

"I will _not_ weaken," Gúthwyn interjected crossly, but she might as well have been talking to herself for all the attention her friends were paying her. Elfhelm was packing up his supplies, telling Cobryn to keep an eye out for any signs of blood on her bandages. Cobryn assured the Marshal that he would alert him immediately if anything was amiss.

When Elfhelm walked away, Cobryn finally turned to Éomund's daughter. "You must let me know if you feel at all lightheaded or nauseous," he commanded her sternly. "Such things are not signs of frailty, but rather developments that are important to your caretakers."

"I will be fine," Gúthwyn repeated unconvincingly.

Cobryn rolled his eyes at her. "Come, let us get you up," he said.

Before they could do so, however, Hammel and Haiweth rushed over. "Gúthwyn!" Haiweth cried. She sank to her knees and leaned forward as if to embrace Éomund's daughter, but restrained herself at the last minute. "I-I am so s-s-sorry… I should n-never have gone off o-on my own! I-I wanted to s-see the stream one more time b-before we left so I could sk-sk-sketch it later…" Tears were streaming down the poor girl's face.

"Haiweth, you do not have to apologize," Gúthwyn murmured, reaching out with her good hand to gently squeeze the child's. "I am just glad that you are safe."

Haiweth stared at her in amazement, the whites of her eyes now bright red from weeping. "B-But you got shot, a-and it was all m-m-my fault!" she exclaimed.

Gúthwyn shook her head. "I rushed into the woods ahead of the men," she replied. "I did not protect myself and the arrow was a punishment for my carelessness, not yours."

"But I—"

"Haiweth, we must get Gúthwyn to her horse," Cobryn interrupted her, albeit not unkindly. "Be content that she does not blame you—but please, do not go wandering like that again."

The girl nodded frantically, eager to appease. Once she stepped back to create more room, Cobryn instructed Gúthwyn to put her uninjured arm around his shoulder. He supported her by the waist as she struggled to get to her feet, but it was clear that her weight—little though it was—was an unwelcome burden for his leg to bear.

"Here," Hammel said suddenly, darting forward and providing the strength needed to put both of them on their feet.

Gúthwyn tried to cover her surprise. "Thank you, Hammel," she whispered sincerely, almost losing the ability to talk in a fit of pain. The young man mumbled something incoherent, appearing just as taken aback by his helpfulness as she.

"Lean on me," Cobryn said, something she was more than content to do. She let him guide her to Sceoh, not speaking a word until they reached the stallion. When at last they were there, she sighed heavily and gazed at her surroundings.

"I hate forests," she muttered.


	34. Entering Ithilien

**A/N: **So... Not to sound like I'm obsessed with myself, but I made a Lord of the Rings 'ficmix' using this story. For those of you who don't know what a ficmix is, it's basically a fanmix that comes with a fanfic. For those of you who don't know what a fanmix is, it's basically a soundtrack for a fandom, pairing, person, whatever. For example, if I thought the song "Milkshake" was really applicable to Cedric Diggory (which I just might...), I would include that in a fanmix about him. Anyway, so, I have a playlist on my computer that I basically use to keep track of songs that remind me of The Rohan Pride Trilogy, and today I uploaded it on my LiveJournal. If you guys are interested in checking it out, here's the address (remove the spaces when you paste it into your browser): http:/ anolinde .livejournal .com /171387 .html

If you do look it over, I hope you enjoy it!

(Also, let me know if the post looks screwy on your computer - I was using HTML tables and they weren't cooperating with me.)

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Thirty-Four<strong>

Thankfully, Gúthwyn's wound did not need to be cauterized. She was practically beside herself with relief after Elfhelm pronounced the procedure unnecessary, for the very idea of submitting to such a torture—even in the name of healing—had caused her to break out in a cold sweat. Mercifully, her shoulder was well on the road to recovery. After a slight fever the next day, which according to Elfhelm was a common affliction experienced by those in a similar predicament, she was only troubled by a constant throbbing that gradually grew weaker.

The Marshal nevertheless insisted on redressing her wounds at each stopping point for the remainder of the journey, rattling off gruesome descriptions of ghastly infections if she dared to question him. All in all, Gúthwyn was very glad when they rounded the last spur of the White Mountains on the final leg of the road to Ithilien.

Elfhelm brought the company to a halt as the looming walls of the Rammas Echor, the outermost defenses of Minas Tirith, reared up in the distance. "My lady," he spoke, addressing Gúthwyn, "I would advise resting a day in the Houses of Healing in the White City. You are sure of a welcome from King Elessar, and it would ease my worries to know that you are being properly cared for."

Gúthwyn shook her head. Although she had not seen Aragorn for years, and normally would have seized any excuse to put off seeing Faramir for a day or two, she did not want the king of Gondor to be remotely inconvenienced on her behalf and she was, quite frankly, tired of traveling. "I would rather get to Ithilien as soon as possible," she declared. Even as the words fell from her lips, she could hardly believe she was saying them.

Elfhelm sighed, evidently non too pleased by her decision. "I am going to inform the guards at the Rammas Echor of our presence," he told the company at large. "Wait here."

"Elfhelm?" Gúthwyn interjected quickly before the Marshal had a chance to ride off.

"Yes?" her friend inquired.

"Will you have them send word to the king and queen that I apologize for not being able to visit the White City again, yet that I am expected in Ithilien and must make haste?" Gúthwyn requested, knowing that such formalities were considered necessities of propriety. Not that she particularly _cared_ about propriety, but she did not want Aragorn to think that she was snubbing him—if indeed he even noticed the report of her entourage journeying around his home.

Elfhelm consented to pass the message along, and soon rode off towards the walls. After he returned, the company set off. The sun was beginning its slow descent behind their backs; when they arrived at Éowyn and Faramir's home, it would be nightfall. _Just in time for a miserable dinner with Borogor's killer_, Gúthwyn thought, sighing.

Excepting the minor delay caused by fording the River Anduin, the ride was uneventful. Dusk was gathering when they turned south towards the hills. Before long, the trees dotting the landscape became a full-fledged forest. Gúthwyn swallowed as the ground beneath them began sloping, for she knew that they were drawing ever closer to the one place she had managed to avoid for the better part of a decade.

Elfhelm led the entourage along a path that seemed to be heading towards the heart of Emyn Arnen. Gúthwyn stared apprehensively at her surroundings, recalling the last time she had been in Ithilien. To her surprise, however, what little she could see in the shadows that had begun to fall did not match her recollections. The trees here seemed far less menacing, far less oppressive—even without the sunlight streaming between their trunks. The forest floor was covered in flowers; each one Gúthwyn noticed was more beautiful than the last.

Confused, Éomund's daughter nearly caused a crick in her neck by trying to examine the foliage closer. As the stars appeared overhead, their soft glow gently trickling down into the woods, she was stunned to realize that the hills of Emyn Arnen were almost… beautiful. _That cannot be,_ she thought in astonishment, certain that the darkness was concealing the ugliness that had to be lurking somewhere.

Yet though the visual evidence of Ithilien's splendor was questionable, Gúthwyn could not ignore the sweet scent of herbs and flowers in the air. Breathing deeply, against her inner protests, she was forced to grudgingly admit that the forest certainly smelled better than she remembered.

_Then again,_ she mused, suddenly reassured, _this is not the place where Borogor fell._ They had been much further north, only a few days' march from the Black Gate. It was permissible, therefore, to admire the region near Emyn Arnen—was it not? Gúthwyn squirmed guiltily in her saddle. She had expected to hate Ithilien when she arrived, but the loveliness of the scenery around her was making it difficult.

As the path burrowed in between two hills, leading them deeper into Emyn Arnen, Gúthwyn felt long-dormant butterflies beginning to stir within her. Within a few minutes, they were positively fluttering against the lining of her stomach. She could see a soft glow ahead of them; far from filling her with relief at the promise of rest, the sight consumed her with dread. Soon, she would be dining with Borogor's killer. Living with him.

_Ignore him,_ she told herself. _You still have Éowyn._

Unfortunately, Éowyn was the reason she could not simply pretend Faramir did not exist. If she did, her sister would know something was wrong. In all likelihood, she would be angry with Gúthwyn. Even if she were not—and, knowing Éowyn, she would be furious—she would ask questions that Éomund's daughter was not prepared to answer.

As the horses rounded a bend in the path, her shoulders slumped. Her head drooped, and her hair fell forward to form a protective curtain around her; thus, she did not notice the sprawling village in front of her until Elfhelm muttered, "At last!"

Looking up, Gúthwyn's eyes widened when she saw what Éowyn had left Rohan for. She was gazing upon a vast dale filled with lights. The soft glow of candles in the windows of numerous, cozy abodes illuminated the road before her. Even in the near-darkness, she could tell that the craftsmanship on the houses was excellent. Nothing was stirring in the town; a far-off bird's call echoed in the air. The melodious sound of a distant waterfall met her ears at the same time as a flowery scent drifted towards her nose.

While she followed the riders down into the settlement, Gúthwyn surveyed the large dwelling at the opposite end of the vale. Obviously the place where Faramir and Éowyn resided, it was spacious and inviting. When she squinted, she could make out the shapes of various flowers and herbs planted in small gardens all around the lodge. Gúthwyn's breath caught in her throat, knowing that this was Éowyn's doing.

Where was the sense of danger, the fear of trees rustling in the wind? Where were the clearings littered with stone ruins, the formal symbols of Gondor's power that had been crudely drawn upon by the Enemy? Éomund's daughter had come to her sister's home expecting a landscape reminiscent of the territory she had scouted with Borogor, yet none of her instincts were willing to believe that anything so ugly as despair and death could befall her here. Emyn Arnen was no Rohan, that was certain, but she thought she might almost… like it.

A guard strode out to meet them as they approached Éowyn and Faramir's house. Gúthwyn flinched, seeing that he was a Ranger; but she did not recognize him, and when he glanced at her there was nothing more sinister than a quizzical expression. "Is this Lady Gúthwyn's party?" the man asked Elfhelm, identifying him as the leader of the group.

"Yes," Elfhelm confirmed, turning around to look at Gúthwyn. His eyes zeroed in on her shoulder. "The lady is wounded and needs a healer, right away."

"Elfhelm!" Gúthwyn hissed, both mortified and worried. "If Éowyn hears that before she sees me, she will panic! It is nothing serious," she tried to assure the Ranger.

"Ignore her," Elfhelm said sharply. "Send for Prince Faramir and Princess Éowyn at once."

_Princess_ Éowyn. It was a title Gúthwyn had never gotten used to.

"I cannot believe you told him that," she fumed as the Ranger hastened towards his lord's dwelling. "You will frighten my sister, and for what purpose? So I can have my bandages changed promptly?"

"There is still risk of infection," Elfhelm pointed out, having long ago grown accustomed to her headstrongness and hardly batting an eyelash at her rudeness. "The healer here will have better supplies and be better equipped to care for your injury."

"But—"

Elfhelm cut her protest short. "Quite frankly, Gúthwyn, I would much rather suffer your indignation than your brother's wrath. Arguing with me will not change that."

Gúthwyn heard a soft cough that sounded suspiciously like a laugh to her right. Glancing over, she saw Cobryn smothering a grin. Irritated, she glared at him—but though there was enough light for him to notice her, he was busy examining his surroundings. Nor was he alone: Hammel and Haiweth were practically stretching their necks in an effort to get a closer look at the town.

Just then, one of the doors to the enormous lodge in front of them opened. Gúthwyn's heart leaped as she saw her sister, whose golden hair was positively glowing in the candlelight that emanated from inside. At that moment, however, her face was taut with anxiety. "Sister?" she called out, lifting her skirt a little as she hurried down the stairs.

Even though a tall figure that must have been Faramir appeared in the doorway a few seconds later, Gúthwyn disregarded his presence and hastily dismounted Sceoh. "Éowyn!" she exclaimed, all but running over to the White Lady. "I have missed you so much!" she cried, embracing her sister.

Then she gasped, for the movement had strained her shoulder and produced a sharp pain that shot through her entire limb. Éowyn immediately pulled away. "What is wrong?" she interrogated Gúthwyn, scrutinizing the younger woman's body. "Your shoulder," she deduced almost instantaneously, pointing shakily at the bandages covering the arrow wound. "What happened? Mablung said you were hurt."

"It is nothing," Éomund's daughter asserted quickly. "I was shot by an Orc, but Elfhelm was able to take the arrow out and—"

"You _what?_" Éowyn demanded.

Detecting the higher pitch of his wife's voice, Faramir stepped further outside. Gúthwyn tensed as she met the puzzled gaze of Borogor's killer; she did not hold it for long, but swallowed and looked back at Éowyn.

"Haiweth was attacked by Orcs while we were in the Firienwood," Elfhelm explained, sliding off his horse. One by one, the others did the same. "Gúthwyn went to rescue her—without waiting for the rest of us," he added sternly—"and was hit by an arrow. We killed all of the creatures we saw. They were weakened by starvation, and it was no struggle. The tribe was but a remnant of the Orcs that once swarmed the mountains."

By now, Faramir had come down the steps and was at Éowyn's side. Gúthwyn edged away from the Steward, refusing to acknowledge him.

"My lord," Elfhelm said, bowing. He then resumed speaking to Éowyn. "Haiweth was unharmed. I removed the arrow from your sister, and have been bandaging the wound since. I have done what I can with the meager supplies I have, but it would be best for her to have a healer examine her."

"Of course," Éowyn agreed. "A thousand thanks, Elfhelm. Faramir, will you—"

"I will go myself to Nestadan," Faramir vowed, looking relieved to have a task that took him away from Éomund's daughter. Gúthwyn's stomach clenched as he leaned over to plant a soft kiss on Éowyn's brow before straightening and vanishing into the darkness.

"Come, sister," Éowyn said when the murderer was gone, gently clasping her hand. "Once the men are situated, I will bring you to your room. Nestadan will attend to you there."

"Nestadan is your healer?" Gúthwyn inquired, already missing Halwend.

Éowyn nodded, then turned to the rest of the company. "Please," she spoke, raising her voice so that all could hear, "follow me into our lodgings. Leave your horses here; someone will be with them in a minute. Dinner is ready."

Cheered by the prospect of a good meal, the soldiers readily obeyed. Gúthwyn went up the stairs with her sister, though not before checking to ensure that Hammel and Haiweth were nearby. Once she was satisfied, she devoted her attention to the room in front of her. It was much like the great hall of Meduseld, in that it was a large chamber with a hearth and multiple tables; but here there was no throne, and even at night it did not seem as dim as its counterpart in Edoras.

Éowyn directed the entourage to a long table with many seats that was positively groaning under the weight of dozens of dishes. Gúthwyn's eyes widened: with the sole exception of the Dol Amroth visit, Éomer had never served so much food in the Golden Hall. Clearly, Faramir and Éowyn were well-off.

As they drew closer to the generous feast, a man that had been standing off to the side now stepped forward. Like most Gondorians, his hair was dark and his eyes grey. "Gúthwyn, this is Beregond," Éowyn announced. "He is the captain of Faramir's guard. Beregond, this is my sister Gúthwyn."

"My lady," Beregond said with a bow.

Gúthwyn gave a small curtsy, blushing when she managed to wobble on such a simple maneuver. Her one saving grace was that Beregond was definitely not one of the Rangers who had witnessed Borogor's death—his garments suggested that he was not even a Ranger at all.

"Sit, and eat to your heart's content," Éowyn bade the group at large, gesturing for the men of Rohan to take their seats. "Please, do not wait for my husband and I. We shall join you as soon as the healer has been summoned for Gúthwyn—we will be but moments."

Tired and hungry after a long day's ride, the warriors were more than happy to obey Éowyn's suggestion. At an encouraging nod from Gúthwyn, Hammel and Haiweth sat down next to Cobryn and began to heap food onto their plates. As they did, Éomund's daughter observed that there were several empty seats at the far end of the table—yet Éowyn had been informed of their number. Were some of Faramir's Rangers to join them? Her belly lurched at the thought, and she suddenly lost her appetite.

"Beregond," Éowyn said then, "will you send for the servants to take care of the horses, and then see that these travelers lack nothing until I return? I will not be long."

Beregond agreed to this, and soon Gúthwyn was being taken down a corridor that started on the far right side of the hall. They walked by several doors, but the passage was lengthy and there were even more further down. "I have put you in the room next to Faramir and I," Éowyn informed her. "It faces west; on a clear day, you can see all the way to Minas Tirith."

Impressed in spite of herself, Gúthwyn thanked Éowyn for her kindness. "I am sorry for having sprung my request to stay here so abruptly upon you," she apologized as her sister walked past the double doors to what were obviously the master chambers and stopped in front of the next room. "I promise, I will explain as soon as the men are gone." She did not want to taint Lothíriel's reputation even further.

"What matters is that you have come at last," Éowyn replied softly, opening the door. Her words were genuine, yet Gúthwyn felt a pang of guilt as she realized that it had taken her almost a decade to accept Éowyn's repeated offers to visit. How horrible a sister could she possibly be?

Her thoughts were momentarily erased by the sight that lay before her as she stepped into her chambers. They were far vaster than her accommodations in Edoras, and far brighter: moonlight was streaming in through an enormous window on the opposite wall, bathing the entire room in a gentle glow that enabled her to see her surroundings even in the absence of candles. There was a writing desk, a gigantic wardrobe—surely her clothes would only take up a drawer or two, at most—and a large bed with more pillows than she could count. Just beneath the windowsill was a wooden bath, partially hidden by a privacy screen.

Best of all, however, was the fireplace that dominated the left wall. It was not yet lit, but Gúthwyn's heart jumped as she imagined how warm she would be during the harsh winter nights. "Sister, this is amazing!" she breathed, hardly daring to believe that such a room had been given to her. "You did not have to put me in such luxurious quarters. I would have been fine with a small chamber!"

"Do not be ridiculous," Éowyn responded with a laugh. "This room has long been in disuse, and I am glad to have you reside in it. I will have your things brought here while you are dining tonight, and we can unpack in the morning."

"A thousand thanks," Gúthwyn said gratefully.

"You are most welcome," Éowyn told her. "And… the walls are thick."

Not understanding, Gúthwyn raised her eyebrows quizzically.

"In case you were worried about being so close to Faramir and I," Éowyn explained quietly. "You will not hear anything, I promise."

Although Gúthwyn's cheeks turned bright red when she finally comprehended what Éowyn was referring to, she was so relieved that her sister had thought of this that she impulsively hugged her once more. Her shoulder protested violently, but as usual she ignored it. "Thank you," she whispered, embarrassed.

"My lady?"

A voice at the door interrupted the moment, causing both sisters to glance up in surprise. Éowyn recovered her bearings first. "Nestadan!" she happily greeted their hailer, motioning for him to come inside. "Gúthwyn, this is our healer," she announced. "Nestadan, my sister."

"It is a pleasure to meet you," Nestadan said sincerely, bowing. His brown eyes were friendly, putting Gúthwyn at ease. "I understand you received an arrow wound during your journey here?"

Éowyn did not speak, prompting Éomund's youngest daughter to do the talking. "Y-Yes," she replied, unnerved at having this authority. "It is not life-threatening, though. I will be fine."

Nestadan laughed, his light brown hair catching the light and momentarily turning gold. "Éowyn told me you would be like this. She seems to think we will be seeing much of each other."

"I am sick often," Gúthwyn admitted.

"You may find that your strength improves here," Nestadan pointed out. "Many of the men in Emyn Arnen who relocated from Minas Tirith, where the people are crowded together and are more prone to spreading illness, have discovered that they are in far better health than before."

Gúthwyn knitted her brow, considering this. It seemed like a valid argument: could it be that, away from the confines of Edoras, she might catch less diseases than she was wont to? She certainly hoped so.

"Sister, do you mind if I leave you here?" Éowyn inquired then. "Faramir may find himself in need of a translator, for he barely understands a word of Rohirric."

Gúthwyn hesitated, unsure of whether she was willing to trust Nestadan to the extent of being alone with him in a room. Yet if Éowyn was comfortable with the healer, then she did not want to embarrass her sister by arguing. _Besides,_ she reassured herself, _I still have that knife in my boot._

"O-Of course," she agreed, surreptitiously glancing down at the small lump near her ankle where she knew the dagger was concealed.

"When you are done," Éowyn said, "join us at the table. You must be starving! Nestadan, you are more than welcome to eat here as well. In fact, please do."

"Thank you, my lady," Nestadan responded politely. "You are most kind."

Éowyn smiled, bade them farewell, and left. Gúthwyn swallowed, her façade of bravery wavering when the stark reality of the situation set in. She was in a bedroom with a man she had not known for more than a minute, and she had no idea what he was capable of.

_Stop worrying so much!_ she scolded herself. _You are being too paranoid._

Nestadan smiled gently at her, most likely detecting her anxiety. "Please, sit down," he said, gesturing towards her bed. "It will be easier for me to examine your shoulder."

Gúthwyn nodded mutely, lowering herself onto the very edge of her comforter. As an afterthought she began to take her bandages off, not wanting the healer to do it himself. Nestadan raised an eyebrow when he saw this, but he did not comment and merely spread his supplies out on her nearby desk. She watched him alertly, noting the numerous herbs in his possession that she had never seen before.

"How did it happen?" Nestadan asked, sorting through what looked like several jars of various medicines.

Gúthwyn related the story to him, removing the last of her bandages as she did so. She also told him how Elfhelm had taken the arrow out, in case it was somehow relevant to any treatment that might be proposed.

When she was done, Nestadan exhaled slowly. "You are a courageous woman," he remarked, pulling the chair in front of the desk over to her. He sat down, making Éomund's daughter uncomfortably aware of how close their knees were. "Not many ladies I know would have risked life and limb to go chasing after Orcs."

An angry blush crossed Gúthwyn's face at his patronizing words, but the twinkle in his eye seemed to say that he was not berating her. "I love Haiweth as I would my own child," she informed him stiffly. "I do not regret putting myself in danger to save her, and I would do it again and again if I had to."

Nestadan smiled, leaning in to get a better look at her shoulder. "She is lucky that you were there," he commented.

Gúthwyn nodded, briefly closing her eyes and thanking the Valar for their mercy. Had her feet been any slower, Haiweth might have been grievously injured—or worse. A moment later, however, her eyes flew open and she drew in a sharp breath: Nestadan was now carefully probing the area around her wound, each finger a small fire that both burned her and frightened her.

"I am sorry," Nestadan apologized, knitting his brow when she shrunk away from him. "Am I hurting you?"

"N-No," Gúthwyn stuttered, forcing himself to submit to his touch—though she could not suppress the shivers racing through her spine.

Nestadan glanced at her, and for an instant she imagined that he had perceived her fear… and then, a second later, had guessed at why. Yet soon his expression cleared, and she was relieved: he was now businesslike, professional. She had no reason to suppose he even suspected that she was terrified of him.

"Whoever took care of this for you did a good job," he said then, standing up and walking back to the desk. "You should keep it bandaged until you can go for a day without the rags soiling, but unless you strain it the punctures should soon close." Withdrawing a bowl from his pack, he crushed some herbs into it and then added some liquid from a small flask. Gúthwyn watched as he stirred the concoction together, the plants and fluids coming together to form a thick paste.

When the process was finished, Nestadan brought the poultice over to her. "Éowyn tells me you enjoy wielding a blade," he informed her, using a brush to gather up some of the mixture. Gúthwyn tried not to flinch as he started applying it to her shoulder, but she could tell that his keen eyes had noted her discomfort.

"Y-Yes," she confirmed, struggling to come up with a reply. "I-I do."

It was hardly eloquent, but it sufficed.

"She says you fought at Pelennor?"

"Yes," Gúthwyn answered, wincing a little at the stinging sensation in her shoulder. "I-I disguised myself so my uncle and brother would not realize it was me. Only Éowyn knew."

"Were you hurt?" Nestadan inquired, dropping the brush back into the bowl.

"N-No," Gúthwyn responded, warily eyeing the healer as he retrieved fresh bandages. "I was lucky." _On that particular day,_ she thought, recalling her gruesome injury at Helm's Deep.

"That is no small feat, to emerge from such a battle unscathed," Nestadan said admiringly. He reached out and began binding her shoulder while he spoke, careful not to knot anything too tightly.

Gúthwyn cringed as his fingers brushed across her bare skin and averted her gaze, mortified. She hated this. She hated the fact that this man, this _stranger_, was permitted to touch her. Part of her even hated Éowyn for abandoning her to his mercy. She knew she was being foolish, that if Nestadan were not so near her she would be fine. He seemed perfectly friendly, and he was clearly trying to put her at ease.

At last, at long last, Nestadan finished wrapping the bandages around her and rose to his feet. "I will not keep you," he assured her: "you have a feast to get to, and I know you must be hungry. Enjoy your stay here, Lady Gúthwyn."

"Thank you," Éomund's daughter said, more confident now that the air about her was freer. "Thank you very much, Nestadan."

Nestadan gave a small bow. After gathering his healing supplies, he exited quietly from the room. Gúthwyn lay on her bed for a moment—the mattress was so soft, she almost had difficulty preventing herself from falling asleep—until she was certain that he had emerged into the main hall. Rising, though not without the fleeting desire to remain in her quarters and surrender to a hopefully dreamless nap, she left the chamber and began walking down the hallway.

She had not gone further than a yard or two before a door ahead of her opened and a slender, golden-haired figure stepped out into the corridor and turned towards her. Gúthwyn's heart hammered rapidly in her chest as Legolas's deep blue eyes met hers, then altogether stopped when she realized that he was wearing nothing but a towel around his waist.

"W-What are you doing here?" she blurted out, stunned. Legolas had obviously just taken a bath: his bare chest glistened with water droplets, and the lone towel in his possession was plastered to his thighs.

The Elf did not appear to be conscious of his nudity, though Éomund's daughter knew that her face was burning with humiliation. "Did Éowyn not tell you?" he asked, confused.

"T-Tell m-me what?" Gúthwyn stammered, struggling not to think of how identical his body was to Haldor's. They could have been mirrors of each other: slender, but with more strength than the biggest of men; pale, yet not white; and tall, so much taller than her. The very sight of Legolas in this light filled her with dread.

"Éowyn invited me to Emyn Arnen for the week," Legolas explained, utterly unaware of the effect his nakedness was having on the woman in front of him. "She thought that a familiar face might help you adjust to your new surroundings."

"She failed to mention that," Gúthwyn muttered weakly, noticing how toned Legolas's stomach and arms and… well, _everything_ were. All of a sudden, she found herself remembering the days of her attraction to Haldor.

_You idiot!_ she thought a second later, mortified. The air in the corridor was now stiflingly hot. _How could you forget, even for a _second_, what he did to you?_

"What happened to your shoulder?" Legolas questioned concernedly, gesturing towards the fresh bandages.

Rather conscious of the fact that her clothes were rumpled and she was in need of a bath, Gúthwyn glanced down at her injury and reluctantly related the story to Legolas. He was stunned, and evidently agitated; once or twice she even saw his hand twitch, as though he might reach out to her and examine the wound for himself. She closed her mind to the images conjured in her head by such possibilities.

"You are lucky the arrow was not poisoned," he remarked when she was finished, his forehead creased with lines.

"I was more worried about having to cauterize it," Gúthwyn confessed, shuddering even though she had escaped that particular remedy. "Elfhelm thought we might have to, if the blood flow showed no signs of ceasing."

Legolas nodded in agreement. "My people avoid cauterization whenever we can, and use it only as a last resort, for it burns the flesh beyond recognition. It is not a very pleasant method of healing."

Gúthwyn could not argue, given how much pain she had experienced when being branded by the Eye of Sauron. Over a decade later, the mark had not faded in the slightest. Yet she did not wish to contemplate such things, and sought to distract herself. Unfortunately, that meant that she immediately became more aware of Legolas's shirtless state.

She would not have been surprised if her cheeks were scarlet. How could he stand there before her and not care—indeed, hardly seem to realize—that he was clad in only a towel? How could he be so composed like this in the presence of others, when she could hardly stand to look at herself in the mirror while she was changing? It was disarming; distracting, really. Try though she might to keep her eyes on his own, her peripheral vision betrayed her and forced her to examine every inch of his bare torso, his naked arms, his scarcely-concealed legs. She had lain under this Elf, had been pressed against a mattress beneath him. Yet it was not only fear, however, that was making her heart pound in the frantic way it was now. The tingle in her body was too warm to be terror, too unfamiliar to be dread. What was it? Was she glad to see him, even in these circumstances?

"Are you all right?" Legolas inquired gently, bringing her back to the present.

"What? Oh, y-yes, I am fine," Gúthwyn said quickly. Too quickly.

Comprehension dawned on Legolas's face, followed by guilt. "Forgive me," he apologized, gesturing towards his lack of coverage. "I was on my way to get another towel. I did not mean to make you uncomfortable." At last, he appeared self-conscious; he even folded his arms across his chest, as if he had any hope of concealing himself.

"N-No, I am fine," Gúthwyn reiterated, though her cheeks were flushed. "I-I should be going," she announced, motioning in the direction of the dining hall. "Éowyn is w-waiting for me…"

"Of course," Legolas agreed. "My friends and I have already eaten, so we are retiring early."

Gúthwyn nodded, feeling both relieved and strangely disappointed. She recalled that she had been meaning to ask how his colony was faring—that was why she was now reluctant to see him go. "Goodnight," was all she said.

"Thank you," Legolas replied, inclining his head. "I hope to see you tomorrow."

Éomund's daughter blushed, taken aback by his kindness. Legolas smiled and sidestepped her, continuing his walk down the hall as if one of the most embarrassing moments in her recent years had never occurred. She gazed after him, marveling at how quietly Elves walked. For the first time, she became aware of the elegance with which Legolas moved—the kind of gracefulness that she could never hope to have.

Abruptly, she came to her senses. Haldor had always been silent when he stalked up and down the lines of practicing men at the training field, when he tortured her in the dark of his tent. Turning away from Legolas, she strode as fast as she could in the opposite direction. What made her think that this prince was any different? So what if so far he was a living reminder of all the reasons she had fallen in love with Haldor? Time would reveal his true colors—would it not?

_You have known Legolas for almost a decade,_ a nagging voice in her mind said sharply. _Haldor turned into your worst nightmare within a month. Legolas is nothing like him._

Gúthwyn pretended that she could not hear that part of her, for she did not want to contemplate what else might be true if the voice was right.

"Sister!" Éowyn exclaimed joyously as Éomund's youngest daughter entered the main hall a moment later. "Nestadan came back five minutes ago—we were worried that you had gotten lost already!" Nestadan winked at her from where he was sitting at the table.

Gúthwyn knew that Éowyn was jesting, but when Faramir smiled awkwardly at her she lost her capacity to smile. "I ran into Legolas," she muttered, taking the empty seat across from Éowyn. Faramir was at the head of the table, unfortunately directly to her right. "I was not aware that he would be here."

She was careful to keep any hints of accusation from her voice, but at least Éowyn had the good grace to flush a little. "I invited him as a surprise for you," she admitted, exchanging a glance with her husband. Faramir, Gúthwyn noted, did not seem as thrilled about the idea as his wife. "Éomer told me that he visited you often in Edoras, and I thought—"

"He did not visit _me,_" Gúthwyn injected, irritated that Éowyn had made such an error. "He sojourns at Edoras because it is a convenient resting place between Ithilien and Eryn Lasgalen, that is all."

Thankfully, Éowyn let the matter drop. "How are Éomer, Lothíriel, and Elfwine?" she inquired instead.

Gúthwyn almost lost her grip on the bread basket she had just picked up. "Our brother is very busy, as usual," she recovered, shakily putting a roll on her plate. "He has not been able to get to the training grounds nearly as often as he would like. Elfwine, of course, is nothing short of a little rascal. He is quite mischievous." _Please, do not ask why I left…_

"What of my cousin?" Faramir prompted her when she did not elaborate, sending shivers down Gúthwyn's spine. "How fares she?"

"Well enough," Éomund's daughter replied quietly, _for a woman whose husband and son hate her._ "She is still attempting to learn Rohirric, but she finds the language difficult."

"That is understandable," Éowyn said with a laugh. "I have heard many a stranger in Rohan complaining about how difficult it is to master our tongue."

The conversation continued in this light vein for the rest of the meal. While Éomund's daughter did her best to chat amicably with her hosts, it was almost impossible to maintain a semblance of normality with Borogor's killer sipping wine at her side. Every time she caught sight of Faramir, she grew nauseous. The bread she was eating turned to sawdust in her throat, the soup to bile. It had been almost ten years since her first encounter with the Steward of Gondor, but her aversion to him was as strong as ever.

_How will I get through this year?_ she wondered helplessly. _How will I be able to sleep, knowing that he is behind the next door? How will I keep what he has done from Éowyn?_

Judging by the terse expression on Faramir's face that had settled in when Gúthwyn entered the main hall and that stayed firmly in place throughout the meal, he did not have an answer to that question. He addressed her as infrequently as he possibly could without being impolite, and he gave up trying to meet her eye when she adamantly refused to reward his attempts with a visible reaction. All in all, the experience was horribly unpleasant—and something that Éomund's daughter had to resign herself to for at least another year.

One by one, the exhausted warriors begged leave and retired to the beds that had been prepared for them. When she, Hammel, Haiweth, and Cobryn were the only ones remaining at the table, Gúthwyn braced herself for the inevitable. Surely now, Éowyn would demand to know why her younger sister had so hastily arranged for a long-term stay.

When Éowyn opened her mouth to speak, Gúthwyn instinctively flinched. The White Lady's next words, however, were merely: "Sister, you should also get to bed. Your shoulder must be sore, and it has been a long day for you. Will you be joining us for breakfast tomorrow?"

Stunned, Gúthwyn almost blurted out, _"Is this not the part where you ask me what I am doing here, when before I have never expressed even the remotest interest in seeing your home?"_

Yet Éowyn was smiling encouragingly at her, and Gúthwyn decided not to look the gift horse in the mouth. It certainly made things easier for her, if not more confusing. With a tentative nod, she said, "Y-Yes, of course. I would love to. Th-Thank you."

"Excellent!" Éowyn responded, clapping her hands together cheerfully. Gúthwyn felt Cobryn's eyes on her; she glanced at her friend and surreptitiously shrugged, just as surprised by the lack of interrogation as he was. "Hammel, Haiweth, and Cobryn, I will show you to your rooms."

Hammel and Haiweth thanked her. Cobryn, on the other hand, appeared embarrassed. "Many thanks, Lady Éowyn," he said politely, "but you do not have to go to the trouble. I am perfectly content to sleep in the hall."

"Nonsense," Éowyn replied. "We have more than enough rooms, so it is not at all an imposition."

Cobryn had no choice but to concede defeat for the sake of politeness. Gúthwyn rolled her eyes at her friend, purposefully letting him see her do so. Apparently he decided not to dignify her rudeness with a retort, for he staunchly ignored her. The two of them and the children then followed Faramir and Éowyn, who was already making plans to show them around Emyn Arnen the next morning, down the passage where Gúthwyn's chambers were.

Éomund's youngest daughter bade the group farewell when she reached her quarters. After saying goodnight to everyone except for Faramir—though she ascertained that Éowyn was not paying much attention before she executed the snub—she ducked inside the room and immediately almost tripped over her bags. The servants must have brought them inside during dinner.

Relieved to have a nightdress handy, Gúthwyn discarded her travel-stained clothes and slipped into the far more comfortable gown. Grateful for the soft bed that awaited her, she quickly washed her face over the basin on her nightstand and then crawled under the covers. Yawning, she promised herself that she would write to Éomer and Elfwine as soon as she had spent a full day in Emyn Arnen. The first couple hours of her stay had yielded little to report.

As soon as she had made that decision, her fatigued body finally surrendered to the welcoming arms of sleep. The last vague, half-formed thought to cross her mind was of her unusual moment with Legolas earlier, and how the sight of him all but naked had not stirred as much repulsion within her as it surely should have.

Gúthwyn shivered, and at last slipped into the peaceful realm of oblivion.


	35. The Difference Between Mother and Child

**Note:** I know next to nothing about what Emyn Arnen looks like, because Tolkien wrote very little about it. Therefore, I have had to make up just about everything concerning Éowyn and Faramir's home.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Thirty-Five<strong>

The following morning, Éomund's daughter was awakened by a bright stream of light that shone into her room and played incessantly upon her eyelids until she was forced to open them. When she did, her surroundings were so unfamiliar that at first she panicked, wondering if someone had taken her from Rohan. Then she remembered: she was in Emyn Arnen, and she herself was responsible for her exile.

With a sigh of disappointment, Gúthwyn sank back into her pillows. After a moment of looking around her new quarters, however, she had to admit that her situation was not entirely unfortunate. The view from her window was positively breathtaking, and Éowyn had outdone herself in providing her younger sister with comfortable arrangements. To top it off, the White Lady and her husband had yet to ask why Éomund's daughter was even intruding upon their home in the first place.

Gúthwyn grinned, relieved beyond all measure. She hoped that Éowyn's courtesy in this regard would last awhile longer—at least until she could get herself accustomed to a new way of life. Getting out of her incredibly soft bed, she walked over to the window and gazed out of it. She was unable to see the rest of the town from here, but when she squinted she could have sworn the White Tower of Ecthelion was twinkling at her in the distance.

She glanced away. A trip to Minas Tirith was certainly in her future, given the number of times Éowyn had written to her about visits with Aragorn and Arwen, but right now she had to concentrate on Emyn Arnen. How would she keep herself occupied here? The lack of broad, sweeping plains—or even fields—was evident, which meant that she would not be able to exercise Sceoh as thoroughly as she would like. She also doubted she would feel comfortable training around the Rangers, some of whom she would certainly recognize.

What to do, then? After her requisite tour of Emyn Arnen, she could not think of a single thing that would occupy her days the way they had been filled in Edoras. Her optimism began to fade. For what felt like the millionth time, she criticized her decision to come to Ithilien. She was forced to remind herself that her relocation was for Éomer and Elfwine's benefit, not her own.

Determined not to spend the day moping, Gúthwyn went to her baggage—which was still on the floor, since she had been too exhausted last night to put her belongings away—and dug out a dress suitable for seeing the town. After pulling it on, she rooted around some more and at last unearthed her brush. A few quick strokes later, she was done.

Almost as if the person on the other side of the door had a sixth sense about when Éomund's daughter was ready to receive visitors, she immediately heard a knock. "Come in," Gúthwyn called, crossing her fingers and praying that it was not Faramir.

She was in luck. Haiweth bounced into the room, a delighted expression on her face that meant only one thing: a new outfit. "Look!" the girl squealed, skipping over the mess on Gúthwyn's floor and doing a small twirl.

Éomund's daughter obliged and found herself wondering where that particular dress had come from. She had seen it before, she knew.

"Éowyn gave it to me," Haiweth explained, practically giddy with excitement. "She said it was hers when she was younger, but since it does not fit her anymore she told me I could have it!"

"That was very kind of her," Gúthwyn remarked, smiling at her sister's thoughtfulness. "Did you remember to say 'thank you'?"

"Of course I did!" Haiweth scoffed. "All of her gowns from when she was my age were in my dresser when I opened it this morning. Can you believe it? She said that they were now mine, because I should have a proper wardrobe for when we visit Minas Tirith!"

_And your wardrobe was not proper before?_ Gúthwyn longed to ask, but she bit her tongue. As irritated as she was with Éowyn—or Haiweth—for making such an insinuation, now was not the time to get into a quarrel over it. "I am happy for you, little one," she said merely.

"I am not little," Haiweth reminded her. "I am taller than you are!"

"That is not saying much," Gúthwyn replied with a smirk. She was a full head shorter than the vast majority of her friends; even Lothíriel had an inch or two over her.

Haiweth appeared not to hear her. Instead, she crossed the room to the window. "You can see Minas Tirith from here?" she inquired. "Is that it?"

Gúthwyn glanced over and, sure enough, there was the gleam from the Tower of Ecthelion. "Yes, it is."

Haiweth sighed contentedly. "I hope we get to visit soon," she murmured wistfully.

"Faramir's position in Aragorn's kingdom will likely call him to the White City on more than one occasion this year," Gúthwyn assured her, though Haiweth's interest in Gondor—and not Rohan—stung.

Haiweth's gaze lit up. "Do you think we will get to meet Queen Arwen?" she wondered aloud.

"Should we accompany Éowyn and Faramir to Minas Tirith, that is certainly within the realm of possibility," Gúthwyn replied carefully, not at all liking the direction in which Haiweth's thoughts were running. "Why do you wish to see her?"

"Because," Haiweth explained impatiently, looking exasperated as if Gúthwyn had just posed the most idiotic question she had ever heard, "she is the _queen_ of Gondor, and she is the prettiest woman in all of Middle-earth! Except for you and Éowyn. And…"

"And what?" Gúthwyn prompted when Haiweth did not see fit to continue.

The girl blinked, as if coming to herself and realizing that she and Gúthwyn were in the midst of a conversation. "Nothing," she said. "Does Prince Imrahil come to Minas Tirith often?"

Gúthwyn's jaw clenched even tighter. She had no qualms with Elfwine's grandfather, who had more decency in him than the entire court of Dol Amroth, but the fact remained that his sons, at least one of which was bound to travel with him wherever he went, had caused her great misfortune. "He must," she said, determined to maintain an expression of indifference. "He is a member of the Council of Gondor." The Council, led by the Steward of Gondor, had been reestablished by Aragorn upon his ascension to the throne. It consisted of various lords and army captains who advised him in regards to matters concerning the realm.

"Does this mean that—" Haiweth started eagerly, but Éomund's daughter had had enough. She recognized fully well Haiweth's poorly-concealed fascination with Dol Amroth culture, and she was in no mood to speculate over whether this or that noble might accompany Imrahil to the White City.

"Really, Haiweth," she cut the girl off, a bit more snappishly than she had intended to. "We are not packing up to visit Minas Tirith this instant, so why does it matter?"

Haiweth instantly deflated, but there was a certain measure of resentment in her gaze as she muttered, "Never mind."

A knock on the door brought an end to the uncomfortable silence. Both Haiweth and Gúthwyn blurted out, "Who is it?", identical expressions of relief upon their faces.

"It is Éowyn," a voice called back.

"Come in," Gúthwyn hurriedly replied.

Éowyn stepped into the room, her shrewd gaze picking up almost immediately on the visible tension within. "What is going on?" she inquired curiously.

"Nothing," Gúthwyn was quick to declare, though Haiweth was uncooperatively scowling at the floor. "We were just talking, that is all. Good morning, sister."

"Good morning," Éowyn responded, choosing to ignore the palpable enmity that was all but crackling in the air. Gúthwyn knew that the White Lady would seek answers from her when they were alone, so she was quite disconcerted when Haiweth mumbled something about finishing a drawing and hightailed it out of the chamber.

"What was that about?" Éowyn predictably demanded, stooping over to hoist one of Gúthwyn's bags onto the still-unmade bed. "Tell me while we unpack."

Gúthwyn obediently hauled the rest of her luggage on top of the rumpled blankets. "It was nothing, really," she lied. The first retort that had sprung to mind was _You did not have to give her those gowns and imply that the clothes I have provided for her are not suitable enough_, but the words sounded terribly churlish and ungrateful. Éowyn had opened her home to Gúthwyn and the children, and such surly behavior would be a poor reward.

"You have developed an unfortunate habit of frequently lying to people who care about you," Éowyn said sharply, giving her a disbelieving stare. "You are keeping too many secrets, Gúthwyn."

Éomund's youngest daughter gulped. Éowyn was far closer to the mark than she realized. If her older sister ever discovered anything of the painful recollections that choked her in Faramir's presence… If Éowyn found out that Gúthwyn had almost gotten married before her…

"You know most of them," Gúthwyn pointed out, her hands shaking as she pulled bundles of clothing from her bags. "I told you… I told you about Haldor."

There it was: the shadow of fear, the ghost of terror, the nausea that clawed momentarily at her insides. It was but a small taste of the dread that had consumed her years ago, when the memories had been fresher and the scars brighter. Now, the instinctive reactions were dulled. The sensations would worsen if she allowed them to, if she lingered in the darkness, yet she had learned to ignore them. Though she would never forget what he had done to her, she had finally managed to distract herself enough to keep Haldor at bay.

"He has been dead for almost ten years," Éowyn pointed out, "and in that time you have hidden much else from me."

Gúthwyn tensed, realizing what Éowyn was getting at. This conversation had nothing to do with Haiweth. Rather, Éowyn was now going to ask what she had not last night. She would interrogate her about why she had left Rohan and come to stay in Emyn Arnen, despite having never given the slightest indication of desiring to visit Ithilien.

_This is it,_ she thought, bracing herself for the inevitable.

"So, tell me about what just happened between you and Haiweth, or I shall have no alternative but to hear her side of the story first," was all Éowyn said.

More confused than ever as to why Éowyn had not yet mentioned the curious nature of her sudden visit, Gúthwyn grudgingly relented. "All she ever talks about is Minas Tirith and Dol Amroth," she informed her sister irritably. "She did not appear the least bit upset when I told her we were leaving Rohan! Then"—Gúthwyn found that she was growing angry, her fists clenching at her sides—"she claimed that Edoras was excessively dull and there was nothing to do in the city!"

"I think Haiweth's dreams are too grand for Rohan," Éowyn suggested quietly.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Gúthwyn demanded, on guard at the merest hint of an insult to her home.

"Well," Éowyn began carefully, neatly folding several of Gúthwyn's gowns, "she has always been captivated by the glamour and riches of Dol Amroth. No offense to our brother, but there is not much opulence to be found in his kingdom—nor is there anything wrong with that. Yet to Haiweth, it seems lacking."

"But why?" Gúthwyn pressed her older sister, desperate for answers. "Where did I go wrong with her? How has she turned out like this?"

Éowyn looked sternly at her. "There is nothing 'wrong' with Haiweth," she said, somewhat frostily. "Her aspirations are simply different than yours."

"She spoke to me of _marriage_ the other day!" Gúthwyn cried, unable to stop herself. "How could she even contemplate such a thing?"

Éowyn caught the distraught note in her younger sister's voice, and her expression softened. "She has not suffered like you, Gúthwyn," she explained gently. "She does not fear a man's touch, and nor should she. It is only natural for someone her age to give thought to wedding another, when all of her peers no doubt spend their time discussing the boys they consider handsome."

"_You_ did not," Gúthwyn pointed out. "I never heard you talking about marriage or whom you found attractive."

"I kept my opinions to myself because I was King Théoden's niece," Éowyn replied, "and I knew the entire population of Edoras would take interest in said opinions."

"But—"

"Come, sister, surely there was at least one boy or man you had your eye on before you were taken to Mordor."

"No," Gúthwyn replied truthfully, her voice small. "There was not."

Éowyn stared at her in surprise. "How can that be?" she asked. "You were sixteen!"

"I-I do not know," Gúthwyn muttered, unnerved by the direction in which the conversation was turning. She felt as if Éowyn had shone a bright light onto her, illuminating her open wounds and the festering chinks in her armor for all of Middle-earth to see. "H-Haldor was the first person I ever w-wanted, the first person I ever kissed. After… there was nothing." _Except Borogor._ "There is nothing. I have learned my lesson."

"_Learned your lesson_?" Éowyn spluttered, horrified. "What Haldor did to you was not a punishment, it was his despicable means of controlling you!" Dropping the gowns and impulsively taking Gúthwyn's hands, she squeezed tightly and gazed earnestly at Éomund's youngest daughter. "You endured something that no one would wish on their worst enemy. I am so sorry, baby sister, that you opened your heart to someone who was heartless—but you cannot give up because of what that monster put you through. If you do, he has won!"

Gúthwyn wrenched herself away, unwilling to admit how effectively Éowyn's words were chipping away at the hard shell she had built around the remnants of her ability to love another. This shell had made it impossible for her to return Tun's feelings, to look forward to marrying Elphir. It had kept her, all these years, from taking that terrifying step into the dark territory of trusting any man to the extent that she could let him touch her. Éowyn was now making her doubt, making her question her reasons for cutting herself entirely off from affection. Was it possible for her to find recovery in the arms of a husband? Had she been wrong to not at least try?

_Borogor_, she reminded herself. The name comforted her and she waited for her confidence to return, for her heart to reassure her that she had done the right thing in abstaining from seeking a spouse. Yet for several seconds nothing came, until reluctantly, grudgingly, the pieces fell back together. Of course she was correct. She could never love a man who had the right to take her to bed whenever he wanted. Marriage was not for her. What would Borogor say if he knew she was entertaining the idea of intimacy?

_Borogor has been dead for nearly a decade,_ said a blunt voice in her head that she could not quite suppress. _He would not want you to be afraid of love; he would wish for you to experience what should have been yours from the moment you kissed Haldor. He always encouraged you to conquer your fears, to fight back against terror. What would he say if he knew you were not allowing yourself to feel again?_

"Sister?"

Too late, Gúthwyn realized that tears were sliding down her cheeks. "This has nothing to do with me!" she burst out to an astonished Éowyn, furiously wiping her eyes. "We were talking about Haiweth, not Haldor—"

"It has everything to do with you!" Éowyn exclaimed, undaunted. "You are so afraid of men that you cannot comprehend why Haiweth is not. You are cosseting the girl because you dread the day when the boys her age start noticing her beauty, if they have not already, and you are doing her a greater disservice than you can imagine! You cannot protect her forever, Gúthwyn, and she will resent you if you try. Let her fall in love, dream of marriage if she wishes! In a few years she shall be a woman and she will have suitors by the dozen. The longer you let your memories of the past prevent her from having a future, the wider the gulf between the two of you will grow!"

Gúthwyn took several deep, steadying breaths, for awhile unable to say anything for fear of crying. "Y-You m-m-make it sound l-like I am a h-h-horrible mother," she finally choked out, sinking down onto the bed.

"You are not a horrible mother," Éowyn told her firmly. "You have loved these children as if they were your own, and fed them and clothed them and educated them as if it were you who had birthed them, for almost all of their lives. I know very few who would make such sacrifices. Yet you have to learn to let go of them when they no longer need you. Sister, sometimes I wonder if it is not you in fact you who needs them."

"That is not true," Gúthwyn whispered, trembling

Éowyn started to speak, but a knock on the door rescued Gúthwyn from a response that would have only made her even more miserable. "Who is it?" the White Lady called out, as Gúthwyn hastily wiped her eyes on the sleeve of her gown.

"It is I, Faramir."

Éomund's youngest daughter barely had time to curse her bad luck before the door swung open, and a puzzled Faramir stepped into the room. "One of the servants said you had gone this way," he announced, his keen gaze falling upon Gúthwyn's red eyes. "Is everything all right?" he asked kindly.

_Get out!_ Gúthwyn wanted to scream at him. _Leave me alone!_

"We are fine," Éowyn assured her husband. "Forgive me—we were busy catching up while we unpacked, and I forgot to even mention the plan for this morning! Gúthwyn," she said, now turning to her sister, "how would you like to explore Emyn Arnen for the day? Faramir and I will show you around. We can leave the rest of this"—she gestured at the luggage that remained untouched—"for later."

"That sounds wonderful," Gúthwyn replied, injecting far more cheerfulness into her voice than she felt capable of.

Éowyn beamed. "Hammel, Haiweth, and Cobryn are more than welcome to come, of course," she added. "Indeed, they ought to join us. Gúthwyn, will you meet us in the entrance hall for breakfast in a couple of minutes? I shall go and find the others."

Gúthwyn understood: Éowyn was giving her time to compose herself. "See you soon," she managed.

The instant Éowyn and Faramir left, she set about making her appearance such that not even Cobryn would guess she had been crying. After splashing her face with water from the washbasin, she carefully dried off and forced herself to slowly inhale and exhale. Only when her hands stopped shaking did she take one last look in the mirror and pronounce herself ready for the day.

"What happened?" Cobryn muttered to her less than a minute after she had met up with the others.

_Damn you, Cobryn,_ Gúthwyn thought.


	36. Touring Emyn Arnen

**Chapter Thirty-Six**

By day, Emyn Arnen was even prettier than it had been at night. As she, Éowyn, Faramir, Cobryn, and the children explored the town, Gúthwyn was hard-pressed to stop gaping at her surroundings. With the natural exception of Lothlórien, she had never seen so many flowers or so much greenery. The dust from the roads seemed to check at the lawns bordering them, so that the air remained untainted and sweet. There were birds twittering about, serenading the newcomers. Éomund's daughter was becoming dangerously taken with the place.

Éowyn insisted on showing them each and every public building. The armory, the butchery, the tanner, the tailor—small, to be sure, with the shopkeepers most certainly well-acquainted with all of their customers, but far more impressive than anything that was to be found in Edoras. Gúthwyn found the constant reminder of how rustic Rohan was in comparison to other realms difficult to bear; she often turned her gaze to survey the exquisite foliage, which at the very least had nothing ill to say about her home.

Mercifully, the residential abodes were hardly more magnificent than those in Edoras. They were properly quaint, with only two or three rooms apiece. Gúthwyn could not help but smile when she saw happy families interacting in or around them: a husband and wife exchanging a chaste kiss just inside the door, children chasing each other in front of their houses, the occasional cluster of women sharing herbs and remedies. Yet she noticed that Éowyn did not quite have the same feelings as she: her sister's eyes darkened as she watched a group of toddlers playing tag, and an odd expression crossed her face.

Gúthwyn wondered at this, but with Cobryn and Faramir nearby she did not dare mention her troubling observations. Instead she let herself be shown the rest of Emyn Arnen, which she was forced to admit was nothing short of beautiful. It grieved her to concede in this regard, though she consoled herself by remembering that Borogor had not fallen here. His body lay to the north, lost to her forever in the dreadful forest where they had been ambushed. Perhaps in the same clearing. Maybe even beside the tree where he had taken her hands and shifted anxiously before her, where he had come so close to asking her to marry him…

She immediately scolded herself for her thoughts. The conversation she had had with Éowyn only a few hours before rose to the surface of her mind; she mulled it over for the hundredth time, carefully picking apart each sentence and dissecting every last word. Was it true that her fear of men was affecting her in ways she did not yet realize? Would Éowyn so boldly encourage her to find love if she knew about Borogor?

_Yes._

The answer came to her with such definitive clarity that she did not, for an instant, doubt it. Her sister would have been sympathetic, certainly, but her outlook would remain the same. _"He has been dead for almost ten years."_ Those words, spoken about Haldor, could easily have been about another: only a span of eight months separated the end Borogor had met from the Elf's. _"A decade is too long to mourn the way you have,"_ Gúthwyn could picture Éowyn saying, _"to shy from affection as if guilty that you are somehow tarnishing his memory. If he loved you, he would want you to find someone."_

Someone, yes—but who would that someone be, if Éomund's daughter dared to look?

"Sister!"

Gúthwyn jumped upon being addressed. "Yes?" she inquired, confused as she absorbed her surroundings. They appeared to have come to the edge of the town, though she could see a small path that led into the woods. "Did you say something?"

"I asked if you wanted to see where the Rangers practice," Éowyn repeated, glancing quizzically at her. "Are you feeling well?"

For Gúthwyn had suddenly paled, now desperate to come up with an excuse to avoid accepting her sister's offer. So far, she had yet to encounter any of the men from that horrible day in the forest; she did not think such luck would extend to a visit to the training grounds of Emyn Arnen. Panicked, she looked to Faramir. He would invent a reason to retire, surely. He had just as much at stake as she did.

Yet the Steward did not rise to the occasion. He merely stood there and watched her, waiting for a response like everyone else. To top it off, now Cobryn was frowning.

"O-Of course," Gúthwyn said shakily. There was nothing she could do. "I would love to."

Éowyn smiled, and stepped onto the trail that Gúthwyn had noticed. One by one, the others followed her. Haiweth was first, then Hammel, then Cobryn. Yet Faramir lingered, a sorry fact Éomund's youngest daughter did not realize until it was too late. It was clear from his expression that he wanted to talk to her.

Reluctantly, Gúthwyn slowed her pace so that soon the figures ahead were obscured by the trees and practically out of sight. Had she not had her own motives for speaking to Borogor's killer, she would have hurried to catch up with them. "What am I going to do if any of your Rangers recognize me?" she hissed, furious at Faramir for placing her in this bind. "Do you not think they will be the _slightest_ bit curious as to why I am here—as your wife's kin, no less?"

Faramir held up a hand to silence her, else she would have continued ranting at him. "They already know," he informed her somberly. "I have warned them. There was no other choice."

Gúthwyn stopped short. "What do you mean, 'they already know'?" she demanded. "They know and now wonder how a woman with my ties to the House of Eorl came to be a slave for the Dark Lord? Or have you told them that sordid tale, as well?"

"They know only what I know: that Éowyn's sister is the same woman whose life I spared in the forests of Ithilien," was Faramir's quiet reply.

Gúthwyn snorted. "As if they did not question the bizarre coincidence," she retorted skeptically. "As if you did not provide them with a satisfactory explanation when one was requested!"

"I did not," Faramir said calmly, ignoring the disbelieving noise she made, "nor could I have. As a matter of fact, I have no idea how you were brought into slavery. I was just as shocked to see you in Minas Tirith as you were to see me—perhaps even moreso, because I alone of us have been unable to fill in the gaps of the other's life between our meetings. I heard, of course, that you traveled with my brother and the rest of the Fellowship; yet how did you get to Rivendell, when just a few months prior I had witnessed you running back to Mordor? It was deemed impossible to escape the Black Land, where the Eye was always watching. Did you succeed where no one else before you had, or did the Dark Lord himself release you?"

Gúthwyn unconsciously shuddered: his last guess was uncomfortably close. "I highly doubt that Éowyn told you nothing," she responded scathingly, ignoring his questions.

"Your sister does more to protect you than you are aware of," Faramir said. "She has not uttered a single word about your time in Mordor, though she suspects that I have detected something different about you. For my part, I have abstained from mentioning the issue—I can hardly tell her that I met you long before I was in the Houses of Healing with her. I have kept my word to you. Éowyn knows naught about Borogor."

"How noble of you," Gúthwyn sneered, the use of Borogor's name fueling a rage within her that had long lain dormant. It overcame the momentary rush of gratitude she had experienced towards Éowyn, who had not told her own husband about her sister's past. "Doubtless you are more concerned about the comforts of your marriage, and how Éowyn would feel if she discovered what you had done, than my wish for the matter to remain secret."

"I will not deny that I have often envisioned Éowyn's reaction, were I to tell her," Faramir answered, sighing. "I admit that my initial promise to you has been strengthened by fear of what she might say, should she learn that I have caused you pain unimaginable."

Gúthwyn swallowed, deflated. She had wanted him to deny the accusation so that she could spit his words back in his face. She had wanted an excuse to yell at him, to lash out, to mock. Now, she had nothing. "That is why we are not telling her," she muttered weakly.

Faramir opened his mouth to speak, but his eyes focused on something over Gúthwyn's shoulder and he was quiet. Éomund's youngest daughter turned to see Cobryn standing there, his eyebrows raised.

"Cobryn," she said in surprise, realizing too late how long she and Faramir had tarried. "Forgive us, we were… ah—"

"Examining the flowers?" Cobryn offered both helpfully and sardonically, pointing at the white blossoms that neither Gúthwyn nor Faramir had paid the remotest attention to.

"Yes," Gúthwyn confirmed resolutely. "The flowers."

Without another word she abandoned Borogor's killer, assuming her place at Cobryn's side. "Let us go," she said tightly. "I am sure Éowyn is wondering where we have gotten to."

"I take it you were not discussing the foliage," Cobryn muttered as they continued down the trail, lowering his voice so as to avoid being overheard by Faramir.

"It was nothing important," Gúthwyn insisted.

"It is remarkable how bad you are at lying," Cobryn replied lightly. "Quite amusing, really."

Gúthwyn shot him a look. "Fine," she growled. "Faramir has alerted the Rangers who were with him when we first met as to who I am, so that they will not ask questions in front of Éowyn. Happy?"

"I had been wondering how the two of you were going to cross that particular bridge," Cobryn said, choosing to ignore her less-than-kind tone. "Ah—here we are."

Gúthwyn grudgingly glanced up. Directly in front of her, the forest opened up to what seemed like another section of the vale in which the inhabitants of Emyn Arnen had made their residence. A wide space had been cleared for the Rangers to train; several of the men were there now, the air around them filled with shouts and clashing metal as they sparred each other. Gúthwyn knew that there would never be a time when all of the Rangers were there at once: some would have paperwork duties that needed to be attended to, others would have jobs requiring travel to different Gondorian provinces, and yet more had families they wanted to spend time with. Despite the certain absence of many, however, there were more soldiers now than she could count.

Éowyn and the children were waiting for her, equal looks of puzzlement on their faces. The White Lady had evidently decided not to inquire, fortunately, for all she said was, "I expect you will be here often, sister. Once the men have gotten over the shock of being defeated by a woman half their size and ten years younger, they will be most cordial to you."

"I hope so," Gúthwyn responded faintly, knowing that she had a couple of strikes against her already. For one, several of the Rangers had attacked her in an ambush almost a decade ago, and would remember that she had felled some of their friends; for another, a different group of warriors would recall how she had apparently lost all sense of reason during a duel with Faramir the last time they visited Edoras. She had barely restrained herself from slitting his throat, and it had shown in her expression.

To keep herself from scrutinizing the Rangers in search of familiar faces, she turned to her right where the clearing stretched on. Then she realized that the training grounds gave way to an archery range, where Legolas and his friends were currently drawing many an astonished stare from onlookers. Gúthwyn found that she, too, was watching as Legolas nocked an arrow and aimed. A sudden blush reddened her cheeks when she thought of how the last time she had seen him, he had been clad in naught but a towel.

_Twang_. The sound Legolas's bow made as it released the arrow startled her, and she jumped a little. The pinprick of ink marking the center of the target disappeared: the Elf's aim had been true. Gúthwyn swallowed as Legolas turned to say something to a friend, for suddenly the image of him practically naked was almost impossible to erase. She suspected she would never forget how mortifying the encounter had been, and she flushed even more as she gazed at him. His golden hair caught the light and shone, prompting her stomach to clench—yet she did not feel sick, surprisingly and mercifully.

Somewhere nearby Éowyn was going on about how often and long the Rangers trained, Hammel and Haiweth were curiously surveying the scene, Cobryn was staring at the warriors with an almost wistful expression on his face, and Faramir was already in conversation with some of the men. Gúthwyn made these observations and yet did not, for they were very dim and did not in any way capture her attention as much as the Elf before her had.

It struck her then that she had never seen Haldor give a smile that was not cruel, except for during that foolish month when she had been blinded by her infatuation with him. Legolas, however, was grinning and laughing with his companions. He was not trying to ensnare her in a trap; indeed, he seemed completely unaware of her presence. She felt doubt creep up on her. Was she wrong to always keep Legolas at arm's length, to cringe from him if he came too close? Was she blind again, but this time by hate and not love?

"Sister, what do you think?"

Gúthwyn started and looked at Éowyn, realizing that her opinion was wanted. "It is wonderful," she replied quickly, smiling. For the most part, she spoke the truth: despite the presence of the Rangers and the Elves, there was nothing at fault with the training grounds themselves.

Éowyn beamed. "I knew you would be happy," she said. "Ah, here comes Legolas!"

Sure enough, when Éomund's youngest daughter glanced over she saw that Legolas, Trelan, and Faelon had abandoned their targets and were setting out towards the visitors. Haiweth hastily mumbled something about wanting to watch the Rangers practice and backed away, almost bumping into one of the men in her hurry.

"How have the three of you fared today?" Éowyn cheerfully questioned the Elves.

"Abysmally," Faelon groused, staring ruefully at the bow he still carried.

"Speak for yourself," Trelan retorted, giving him a mock glare.

Legolas rolled his eyes at the two of them, and then addressed Gúthwyn. "How is your shoulder?"

Unconsciously, Gúthwyn's hand darted up to rest on her bandages. "It is doing better, thank you," she replied. "I expect it will make a full recovery."

"It might leave a scar," Trelan told her. "Faelon once shot me—"

"It was an accident!" Faelon protested, looking mortified.

"—and the mark still has yet to disappear, though it has been a thousand years since the incident," Trelan finished, purposefully raising his voice so that it drowned out Faelon's.

Éowyn was chuckling, though not unkindly. "Unfortunately, us mortals do not have as much time on our hands to heal. Mayhap Gúthwyn will not fare so poorly as you, Trelan."

"At least she did not get hit in the backside," Trelan grumbled.

Although Gúthwyn flushed, everyone else burst out into laughter. Even Faelon was seen cracking a smile.

Legolas tried to steer the conversation onto a more appropriate subject. "Did you sleep well?" he asked Éomund's youngest daughter.

"I did," Gúthwyn replied earnestly, knowing that Legolas remembered perfectly well how often nightmares had once plagued her rest. Now they were rare occasions, fleeting brushes with danger that had her bolting awake in terror before she was able to slip back into a dreamless state. "Sister, you do spoil me," she declared, turning to Éowyn. "Never have I lain on a mattress so soft!"

Éowyn waved her hand dismissively. "What we have cannot possibly compare to what Legolas has pampered Faramir and I with in the past. One veers dangerously close to lying in bed all day!"

"Our friend does like to show off," Trelan remarked with a smirk.

Legolas shoved him.

"You… you have stayed at the colony?" Gúthwyn questioned her older sister, confused. "I thought you only had dinner there once in awhile."

Éowyn shook her head. "Legolas has been most kind to let us spend the night on several occasions. It is, of course, possible to ride back after the meal, but in the dark and on a full stomach the journey is not at all comfortable."

"When Gúthwyn, Cobryn, and the children have settled in," Legolas said, speaking to Éowyn yet smiling at Gúthwyn, "I hope you will do me the honor of allowing me to host you for more than one evening."

"That sounds wonderful," Éowyn responded before Gúthwyn even had the chance to process the fact that such a visit would require daily interaction with Elves. "If Faramir's schedule permits… indeed, though it may not!" She glanced at her husband, who was deep in discussion with some of the Rangers and had drifted away from the group. "Sister, the two of us could make the trip together if Faramir is unable to. Legolas will do an admirable job of entertaining us, as he always does."

Gúthwyn wondered if Éowyn would be half as eager to accept Legolas's invitation if she knew that the prince of Eryn Lasgalen could have been Haldor's twin. The thought of mentioning this tidbit to her sister was sorely tempting, but she did not wish to make things uncomfortable when the White Lady was trying so hard to arrange activities that might interest her.

"I would not want to impose," Gúthwyn answered carefully, removing every hint of reticence from her expression.

"I have intruded upon your home far too often for you not to return the favor," Legolas assured her. "Yet even if I had not sojourned in Rohan for a countless number of weeks, I would never consider your presence a burden."

The sincerity with which he spoke caused Gúthwyn's cheeks to turn pink. "If you truly do not mind, then the pleasure would be mine," she said, surprising herself with her boldness.

"You have only to name the date," Legolas declared, grinning.

"Do let me be the one to break the news to Raniean," Trelan begged, a wicked light in his eyes. "I know he will be thrilled…"

Gúthwyn's gaze instinctively turned towards the haughty Elf. When she saw him shooting at his target with a particularly ferocious zeal, her insides curled in dislike. Elfwine had once stopped Raniean in the street and attempted to befriend him, but the Elf had reacted cruelly and the poor toddler had started crying. What disturbed Gúthwyn was how little remorse Raniean had seemed to feel for terrorizing a child; as far as she was aware, he had never apologized for the incident.

"Sister, we should head back," Éowyn said then, prompting Éomund's youngest daughter to look away from Raniean and raise her eyebrows quizzically. "I believe your escorts intend to leave soon."

Her words made the breath catch in Gúthwyn's throat. "Leave?" she repeated, stunned. "But they have only been here one night!" When Elfhelm, Gamling and the others departed, she would truly be sundered from Rohan and its people. Something tightened in her chest.

"They wish to return quickly," Éowyn explained, "for many of them have duties to Éomer—not to mention families to care for."

Gúthwyn swallowed, feelings of misery creeping up on her. "Then let us go," she agreed unhappily. "I-I should like to say farewell."

Taking their leave of Legolas, Trelan, and Faelon, Gúthwyn and her companions began the walk back. While they filed down the path, Faramir and Cobryn fell into a discussion about the Gondorian system of rule.

"You know much about our government," Faramir said in amazement, after Cobryn made several judicious comments concerning Gondorian affairs. "Yet until recently, you resided in Rohan!"

"I read, my lord," Cobryn replied with a smile. "I used to dwell in Minas Tirith, and though I no longer have a home there I remain interested in Gondorian society. Before relocating to Edoras, I was fortunate enough to secure some books on the matter—and, time permitting, I attended all of the public assemblies during King Elessar's first few months of rule."

"I remember that," Faramir responded, surveying Cobryn with respect. "I saw you there on many occasions."

Cobryn appeared immensely surprised—and gratified—to learn that the Steward of Gondor had recognized him in a crowd. Unseen by both men, Gúthwyn bristled. It was obvious that Cobryn held Faramir in high esteem; unlike her, he had no trouble interacting with Borogor's murderer. She wished she was able to resent him for it, but she enjoyed Cobryn's company too much and could not bring herself to acknowledge such bitterness.

Soon, they reached Éowyn and Faramir's residence. There, Gúthwyn's eyes were greeted with the painful sight of the Rohirric warriors preparing their horses for the road to Edoras. The men were efficient workers, and it would not be long before they were ready to set out from Emyn Arnen. Gúthwyn was to be left alone in Ithilien, isolated from her people and more homesick than ever.

Although her friends were almost done with their packing, Gúthwyn marched over to Elfhelm and asked, "Must you go now? You have only spent a night here!"

The Marshal's expression suggested that he knew all too well why the king's sister was so concerned about his departure, and there was pity in his gaze as he answered, "Mountains of paperwork await me at home, and I must visit Aldburg to assess operations in the East-mark. My presence is needed there as soon as possible."

Gúthwyn's shoulders slumped, realizing that she could not hope to persuade Elfhelm otherwise. "Will you tell my brother that I greatly miss him and Elfwine?" she asked in a small voice.

"Of course," Elfhelm promised. "Take care of yourself," he then bade her, suddenly stern. "Allow your shoulder to heal properly before you start using the training grounds."

Having already made plans to practice the next day, Gúthwyn was silent. The guilt must have shown on her face, for Elfhelm sighed in exasperation. "I mean it," he insisted. "You are doing yourself no favors by overexerting your body."

"Yes, my lord," Gúthwyn conceded, sardonically dutiful.

Rolling his eyes, Elfhelm replied, "I know you will not listen to me, so I have requested that your new healer keep an eye on you—and appeal directly to Éowyn, in the likely event that you prove too headstrong to follow reason."

"Elfhelm!" Gúthwyn exclaimed indignantly. "My shoulder is fine!"

"And I am a Hobbit," Elfhelm responded sarcastically.

Gúthwyn glared at him, and he stared evenly back at her; finally she gave up and flung her arms around him, surprising the Marshal with a tight embrace. "Thank you for putting up with me," she said, blinking away newly forming tears. "I am sorry I was so difficult with you."

"Éomer warned me in advance," Elfhelm assured her, patting her on the shoulder. As they pulled apart, he added, "I hope you find Ithilien to your liking. Try not to break too many of the Rangers' bones."

Gúthwyn managed a smile through her sadness. "Farewell, my friend," she whispered, the lump in her throat making it difficult to speak.

The rest of her goodbyes were no easier. Parting with Gamling was as awkward as it was poignant, especially when she thanked him for keeping the truth behind the rumors of her impurity a secret. Hunwald actually grew misty-eyed when she swore to write to Merry and have the Hobbit recount his adventures with Treebeard and the Ents to the warrior; the sight made Gúthwyn hard-pressed to keep from sobbing right then and there.

Yet eventually she had spoken to all of the soldiers, and before she knew it she was standing next to Éowyn on the stairs and watching as her friends mounted their steeds. After several last thank-yous to Éowyn and Faramir, and cries of "Farewell, my lady!" to Gúthwyn, the men turned their horses around and rode away. A moment later they had disappeared into the forest, and Éomund's youngest daughter felt more lost and abandoned than ever.

"Come, sister, let us go inside," Éowyn suggested softly. Cobryn, Hammel, and Haiweth had already entered the dwelling; only Faramir was left, and he was pointedly looking away so as not to embarrass his wife's sister.

With a sigh, Gúthwyn allowed herself to be steered into her new home. As she crossed the threshold, a few tears slid down her cheeks and fell onto the floor. They glistened on the ground, mournful little testaments to her misery.

"You will like it here, baby sister, I promise," Éowyn murmured, noticing. It was a mark of her kindness that there was no hint of resentment in her voice.

Gúthwyn could not bring herself to say anything.

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><p><strong>AN:** *sheepish* So, I've been majorly slacking on replying to some reviews for the last chapter - midterms and various papers are to blame for that, plus my starting another writing project. (Which, don't worry, knows its place and won't interfere with this one!) With that in mind, I'd like to respond to a few people who had questions/comments that I'd like to address. I'm so absent-minded that I might have already answered one or two of these, so bear with me. =)

**Doll-Fin-Chick:** I like the new name! Dolphins = awesome. In regards to POVs: I've actually never done a Hammel or Haiweth POV, nor am I planning on doing one this epilogue. This is mainly because I like to keep their thoughts as mysterious to the readers as they are to Gúthwyn. =P That said, I started writing a Haiweth POV that I'm going to put in the alternate epilogue, so keep your eye open for that (as well as Hammel's!). As for other characters, my decisions to include their POVs are usually spur-of-the-moment, so I never quite know when they're going to come up! However, I do anticipate writing POVs for Éowyn, Éomer, Lothíriel, and Legolas in the near future - possibly Elfwine, too, because who can resist a cutie like him. =P Oh, and yes, Legolas is quite a catch! ;)

**kycatsfan:** There will be an incredibly violent (in more ways than one) confrontation between Gúthwyn and Hammel in the future in which each will be shocked by the other's perspective... Unfortunately, that won't be for awhile. Haiweth, for the most part, will be safe from the resentment that's consuming her brother.

**Andi-Scribbles:** You're going to be very happy three chapters from now... =)

**R. Equillith:** I'm glad you enjoyed the chapter! I'm starting to return to the issues between Gúthwyn and the children, because both parties have some serious hang-ups that need to be addressed. =P

**Liza:** To be honest, whenever _I_ go back and reread those first chapters of Alone, I don't know how anyone else gets through them. Major kudos to you! I always feel like I should go back and edit them, but the story's been going for almost seven years now and I get a kick out of seeing how much my writing's improved. I'm glad you stuck with it! In that far-off day in the future in which I finish these epilogues (which I'm beginning to think exists solely in my imagination =P), I do have some other writing projects lined up - but as of now, none of them are in the LOTR fandom. I'm going to need a major breather after The Rohan Pride Trilogy. XD

**To every reader/reviewer:** Thank you all so much for continuing to read and review with your amazing comments and incredibly generous praise. Seriously. I don't know how you guys are still with me, but I'm so glad you are. As corny as it sounds, every review I get - no matter how long or short - brightens my day so much. If there were a way to give all of you a million cookies of your choice, I totally would in a cocaine heartbeat. =D


	37. A Slip of the Tongue

**Reply to the reviewer "Grace":** Thank you for the review! I know that Haldor's presence and actions in Mordor may seem to be stretching canon quite a bit, especially in light of the way Elves viewed sex - but trust me, there is an explanation! While I can't fully divulge Haldor's back-story at present, I will say this: since Morgoth had the power to torture Elves into Orcs, I would consider it plausible for Sauron to break their spirits and turn them evil (even if he could not succeed in creating the loathsome race that his superior did). This may or may not be true; as far as I'm aware, Tolkien's never discussed whether Sauron can or cannot do this. However, I don't think it's an unreasonable assumption. =)

While I will fully admit that there are some glaring canonical errors in this story, namely Gúthwyn's entire existence, I've given myself a pass on those (because, well, otherwise I wouldn't have a story! =P) and otherwise strive to keep everything as accurate as possible. Please feel free to point out any other mistakes! I'm far from perfect, after all. =P

I hope you enjoy the upcoming chapters!

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><p><strong>Chapter Thirty-Seven<strong>

The rest of the day passed uneventfully. Although Gúthwyn pleaded a headache after the Rohirrim's departure and retreated to the comforts of her bedroom, Éowyn soon dragged her out for lunch and then refused to let her barricade herself in her chambers again. Instead, the White Lady entertained her visitors with a series of games, half of which Gúthwyn had never heard of before.

"Cobryn, you must be cheating!" Éomund's youngest daughter exclaimed at one point, midway through a round in which they were all attempting to guess the definition of a word provided by a member of the company. Cobryn had just rattled off something that had an obscenely high syllable count, was nothing Gúthwyn could recall ever being used in a conversation, and in short had to have been made up. "That cannot be a _real_ word!"

"Gúthwyn, do you _read_?" Cobryn asked her teasingly. "When was the last time you opened a book?"

Éomund's youngest daughter opened her mouth to hotheadedly protest, then realized that she could not, in fact, remember the last time she had opened a book other than the one of Beregil's poems. She certainly did not keep any in her possession, and indeed had no use for them—why spend hours poring over musty old pages when she could be outside talking to friends instead?

"You have _got_ to be kidding me," Hammel said loudly as the silence lengthened.

Éowyn, Cobryn, and Haiweth burst out laughing; Faramir hastily turned his chuckle into a cough. Gúthwyn stared defiantly back at them. "I have better things to do!" she declared.

"Better things to do than what?"

Everyone looked up to see Legolas approaching them, a quizzical expression on his face. He appeared to have just returned from archery practice, and must have overheard their laughter and wondered at its source.

"Read, according to Gúthwyn," Cobryn replied with a smirk. "I personally doubt she has ever finished—nay, ever started—a book in all the time I have known her."

"Cobryn!" Gúthwyn hissed, mortified that Legolas was being informed of her educational shortcomings. What if he thought her a simpleton?

Legolas, however, appeared rather sheepish. "I confess I have about as much interest in books as Gúthwyn," he admitted, causing several surprised expressions to emerge on the faces of his audience. "My father insists that I continue my studies, but beyond that I have only ever willfully consulted an archery book."

Gúthwyn grinned. "See?" she cried triumphantly. "Not everyone is as inclined to read as you, Cobryn!"

"I never would have guessed that you and Legolas would be so similar," Éowyn told her, smirking.

"Not at all, my lady," Legolas hastened to correct her. "Your sister is by far the more accomplished with a sword, and I could not possibly hope to compete with her fairness."

Éowyn's merry laughter filled the air, though Gúthwyn was blushing furiously. Legolas's remark had been delivered in a humorously self-deprecating manner, but his compliment about her appearance was not something she could easily dismiss with mirth. Had he meant it? She did not believe herself terribly comely; Éowyn was much more beautiful, and had that which Gúthwyn lacked: curves.

That was it, then—Legolas was clearly only joking. Éomund's youngest daughter was hard-pressed to explain why she felt so disappointed. Perhaps, deep-down, there was a trace of shallowness within her that made her want to be considered attractive by others. Whenever her brother's friends had flattered her with appraising comments about her looks, she had known they were doing it to be kind to her. The only way in which she had ever stood out amongst the Rohirric women was the color of her hair, but the end of Éomer's bachelorhood had also brought about the end of Gúthwyn's uniqueness in that regard.

When she finally pulled herself out of her thoughts, it was to realize that Legolas had sat down at the table and was participating in their game. Despite his claims that he did not enjoy reading, he was able to correctly guess the definition of the difficult word Cobryn had provided. The rest of the terms were not nearly as challenging, and the game went more quickly and enjoyably.

Before long, it was dinner time. One by one the Elves appeared, most of them having been outdoors just seconds prior. Raniean acknowledged Gúthwyn with an icy stare and then ignored her the rest of the evening. He did not so much as look at Éowyn and Faramir, although his hosts did not notice—or thought nothing of—the snub.

To Gúthwyn's right, Éowyn and Haiweth were chatting up a storm about Gondor. "Faramir and I went to a ball last year in Minas Tirith. We _think_ Queen Arwen had succeeded in wearing Elessar down on the matter," Éowyn was telling the awestruck girl. "He would never have agreed to one if it had not been for her. He is a horribly uncomfortable dancer; it is rather amusing."

"What were the ladies wearing?" Haiweth immediately wanted to know.

Éowyn launched into as detailed a description as the girl could possibly desire—although Gúthwyn suspected that her sister was making up most of it, for she highly doubted that the White Lady had paid much attention to what the noblewomen were dressed in—while Haiweth listened eagerly.

"Rest assured, you will see Minas Tirith before the year is out," Éowyn concluded, causing Haiweth to gasp in delight. "Arwen told me that she was hoping to host another ball midwinter. If she does, we shall all attend."

"Haiweth, have you been formally introduced to the king and queen?" Faramir inquired curiously. Unnoticed, Gúthwyn glared at him. Hammel looked equally unamused.

"I think once, when I was little," Haiweth replied breathlessly.

"Perhaps it is time to bring you before them again," Faramir suggested, smiling.

Then he caught sight of the murderous expression on Gúthwyn's face, and stopped promoting the idea.

"I-I would love to meet them!" Haiweth exclaimed, nearly overcome with joy. "Especially Queen Arwen—she is beautiful!"

"And generous and knowledgeable, to name but a few of her other attributes," Éowyn added amusedly. "Looks are not everything."

"They help," Haiweth argued.

Faramir nearly choked on his drink. "We have ourselves a realist!" he said laughingly, once he had sufficiently recovered—much to Gúthwyn's displeasure.

"Must you be so shallow?" Hammel demanded long-sufferingly. "Pretty ball gowns and shiny jewels are never worn by someone with a halfway decent personality."

"That is not true!" Haiweth retorted, annoyed. "And how would you know, when you never talk to girls?"

A dull flush crept up Hammel's cheeks. "I do not need to speak to the likes of the women _you_ admire to realize that there is barely a brain between all of them!"

"I admire Gúthwyn, Éowyn, and Queen Arwen," Haiweth snapped angrily. "Excellent job, saying that when two of them are at this table."

"I would venture to guess that Hammel was referring, perhaps, to the women of Dol Amroth," Cobryn said hastily, attempting to quell the dispute.

Faramir shuddered. "I have spent many a summer with my uncle Imrahil," he informed them, "and rarely have I met cattier ladies. Imrahil was always lamenting that he could not kick them all out of his court."

"There must be some who are kind," Legolas theorized diplomatically. Gúthwyn saw him looking at Haiweth, whose face was growing steadily darker.

"I am sure there are," Éowyn agreed, also after a glance at Haiweth. "Sister, please, eat some more."

Rather than cause a scene by declaring herself too stuffed for further consumption, Gúthwyn obediently ladled more soup into her bowl. The food in Ithilien was delicious, but filling. She did not think she could manage beyond a few mouthfuls without bursting at the seams.

While she ate, the conversation turned to other subjects. "Hammel," Faramir began, clearly making an effort to be sociable with the boy, "I hear from Cobryn that you are quite the young scholar!"

Hammel threw a quick look at Cobryn. "Yes," he said, "I suppose." Gúthwyn was pleased that he did not, unlike Cobryn, betray her by showing the slightest flicker of enthusiasm upon receiving the Steward's attention.

Faramir smiled apologetically. "I am afraid the libraries here are not as grand as what can be found in Minas Tirith, but I hope you will be content for now to peruse our collection. Perhaps I shall show you and Cobryn tomorrow where we keep our books?"

_That bastard_, Gúthwyn thought, furious at Faramir for making such overtures to her child. Hammel's eyes were gleaming with interest, though the rest of his features appeared quite expressionless: he was hard-put to conceal his excitement at the idea of having an entire library of books to browse through. "That is very kind of you," he replied, obviously delighted.

Gúthwyn's hand was gripping her spoon so tightly, it had turned white. How dare the Steward so blatantly curry favor with her children? She knew exactly what he was doing, the whoreson—he was attempting to win them over so that she might hate him less. As if she would ever forget what he had done, how much pain he had caused her…

"Gúthwyn, how is Elfwine?"

Legolas's inquiry momentarily distracted her from her fury, though it brought about a sharp pang of sadness. "He is well," she replied morosely, disinterestedly stirring around her soup. Hammel, Cobryn, and Faramir were now excitedly discussing books; Éowyn and Haiweth had struck up a conversation about—what else?—Minas Tirith. "He has been making quite a few friends ever since he discovered that there are other children his age."

"He does seem to enjoy socializing," Legolas said with an amused grin. "Like his aunt."

"Indeed," Gúthwyn replied, blushing. "Unfortunately, however, I do not know anyone outside of family here."

"That will change soon," Legolas predicted confidently. "As a matter of fact, you have already won the respect of your healer."

"I—I have?" Gúthwyn inquired, deeply surprised. She considered her first meeting with Nestadan a disaster, and she was astounded to learn that he was apparently not under the notion that she was a timid, overly-anxious woman who had unreasonably shied from his touch. All in all, she was not looking forward to the appointment she had with him after dinner. He was due to apply the salve to her shoulder again, and she knew it would only result in her cringing from him.

"He was most impressed by your bravery on the journey to Ithilien," Legolas informed her. "He said that you were much like your sister in that regard."

Gúthwyn glowed with pleasure, remembering her younger days when she had aspired to be as courageous as Éowyn. Nothing she did, of course, would ever match up to facing down the Witch-king of Angmar and triumphing, but hearing Legolas's words brought warmth to her heart. "I did what anyone would have done," she demurred, slightly embarrassed. "Wait… did he tell you this?"

Now Legolas appeared somewhat sheepish. "I sought him out and inquired about your shoulder," he confessed: "you told me you were fine, but I had my misgivings."

Feeling rather flattered and confused by Legolas's concern, Gúthwyn defended herself. "It is healing!" she adamantly declared. "I should be able to use the training grounds within the week—"

"Absolutely not," Éowyn and Cobryn simultaneously cut her off, each glancing up from their respective discourses. Their hard stares were rather formidable.

"You are not to exert yourself until Nestadan has given you permission," Éowyn ordered her. "Please do not force me to take your sword away."

"Éowyn!" Gúthwyn hissed, her face growing scarlet with embarrassment. "I am not a child!"

"Nay, but you are often inclined to ignore your injuries when it suits your convenience," Cobryn said reprovingly. "Do not venture onto the training grounds until the healer has pronounced you fit."

"What am I supposed to do in the meantime?" Gúthwyn demanded indignantly. "Sit around and learn how to sew?"

Cobryn cracked a smile. "We would all rather be spared that disaster," he told her, "but perhaps you might open a book…?"

Gúthwyn glared at him, and he smirked before returning to his conversation with Hammel and Faramir.

"Honestly," Éomund's youngest daughter grumbled, feeling quite put out when she saw that Legolas was practically twitching in an effort to hold back his laughter.

"We were talking about Elfwine, I believe?" Legolas asked once he had recovered, clearly trying to steer the discussion to safer ground.

The change in subject had a sobering effect on Gúthwyn. "Yes," she murmured sadly. "I miss him and Éomer more than anything else in Rohan."

"Do you know how long you will be staying here?" Legolas inquired concernedly, noting the misery in her expression.

"No," Gúthwyn replied, twisting her bread in her anxiety and breaking off a piece far too big for her to fit in her mouth. "Yet I expect that it shall be for at least a year, if Éowyn can tolerate my company for that amount of time."

Legolas's brow knitted. "Forgive me if I speak falsely," he said, lowering his voice so that none around them could overhear—prompting Gúthwyn to lean in slightly—"but I do not recall you ever showing interest in visiting Ithilien. What has changed your mind?"

Gúthwyn hesitated before answering. "Various circumstances beyond my control," she settled on, inadequate a response though it was. "All things considered, I felt it would be best if I left Rohan for awhile."

"I am sorry to hear that," Legolas said softly. "Is your family well?"

The grimace that twisted Gúthwyn's features told Legolas all that he needed to know—and more than she could ever deny. The Elf frowned, obviously confused. "Did you… did you argue with Éomer?" he questioned.

"No, not at all," Gúthwyn hastened to assure him, relieved that she could truthfully reject such speculation. "I was very upset to be parted from him, and I miss him greatly."

"Was there a problem with Lothíriel?" Legolas guessed.

_A problem with Lothíriel._ The understatement of the year, if not the century. Fortunately, Gúthwyn was spared a reply by a slight commotion at the other end of the table. Almost all of the Elves had risen to their feet, having evidently finished their meal and conversation. After thanking Éowyn and Faramir most cordially, they disappeared into various passages leading out of the main hall. Éomund's youngest daughter shuddered, wondering what she would do if she ever ran into one of them while coming out of her chambers.

Raniean held back for a moment to see if Legolas would follow, but the prince shook his head. With a sigh, as if to say, _Linger with the mortals if you insist_, Raniean turned away and followed Trelan out of the room. Shortly after, Hammel and Haiweth retired—the former likely to read a book and the latter referencing a drawing that needed completing.

Gúthwyn realized then that Cobryn and Faramir had finished exchanging book names and authors; they were quiet and, she noticed, watching her. The reason for this became apparent when she glanced over at Éowyn and saw that her sister was giving her the Look. Gúthwyn swallowed, staring down at her plate. She knew what the Look meant. It meant: _baby sister dear, you have precisely one second before I start interrogating you._

"So," Éowyn began, her no-nonsense tone of voice immediately warning Gúthwyn of how serious the White Lady was, "Faramir and I thought it unadvisable to ask you this on your first night here—but now it is your second. What urgent circumstance, sister, forced you to leave your home for a place you have positively avoided for almost a decade?"

"Éowyn—"

"I have already decided not to inquire about your inexplicable aversion to Ithilien," Éowyn cut her off, "for I would much rather have my first question answered."

Legolas started to rise. "This seems to be a delicate matter, and it is not my place to intrude upon family concerns," he excused himself.

"No!" Gúthwyn found herself crying, rather more loudly than she had intended. "I mean," she clarified, her face turning bright red when everyone at the table looked quizzically at her, "you have already borne witness to much of what I must tell my sister, and the rest might perhaps help you understand those incidents."

Appearing both surprised and somewhat gratified, Legolas lowered himself back into his seat. Gúthwyn, however, was not yet ready to begin her story. Turning to Faramir, she said quietly, "This tale does not reflect well on your cousin, my lord. I must ask that you refrain from discussing anything you hear with your uncle Imrahil, as well as his sons."

Faramir was silent for only a second before he agreed. "As you wish," he uneasily consented.

"Thank you," Gúthwyn replied, relieved. Addressing her sister, whose eyebrows were already slanted, she took a deep breath and started to speak. "When I met Lothíriel, I sensed that she rather disliked me…"

She told Éowyn everything, from her first suspicions of Lothíriel's hatred to the last horrible afternoon in which they had been confirmed. All the rumors she had heard about herself, including the ones that involved Cobryn, she repeated to her horrorstruck sibling; not a single one did she leave unacknowledged

She struggled through an account of the day Lothíriel had given her a soiled sheet to take to the washing circles, of how humiliated she had been when the women had inferred that it was hers. The snide remarks that Lothíriel had made about her in front of the other maids in her presence—these, too, did not go unmentioned. It was difficult to speak of the comments regarding her figure in front of Legolas and Faramir without blushing, for she knew they were true and she was embarrassed by their crudeness.

As Gúthwyn talked, Éowyn's face grew steadily more furious; Faramir's graver; and Legolas's more appalled. Cobryn alone was unaffected, for he had heard it all before. Not once did he remove his gaze from Éomund's youngest daughter, his never-flickering eyes giving her the strength to continue when she faltered. And falter she did, especially when she came to the train of events that had led to her utter disgrace in the eyes of the Dol Amroth delegation.

Haltingly, she informed her sister of how Amrothos had dogged her every step, how he had pulled her close during dances and insinuated that her behavior with other men was questionable. She drew in several shaky breaths as she recalled her foolishness in seeking his help to achieve an audience with Elphir, in believing for an instant that Amrothos had no ulterior designs of his own. Trying to delay the moment in which she had to speak about the stables, she told Éowyn about the public spectacle she had consistently made of herself with Amrothos and Lothíriel's subtle assistance. The only thing she left out was Lady Míriel's story about Lothíriel, for that secret was not hers to divulge.

Yet at last she came to the lunch hour in the stables when she had been intruded upon by Amrothos, when he had blocked her exit and pressed himself against her. Here, the memories were so overwhelming that she was unable to gasp them out. Instead she trembled, staring down at the table and repeating again and again: "He... he... he—"

Mercifully, Éowyn reached out and covered Gúthwyn's hand with her own. "Sister, you do not have to talk about what Amrothos did to you," she said kindly, squeezing Gúthwyn's quivering fingers. "Éomer told us everything. You need not relive that experience at this table."

"H-He did?" Gúthwyn stuttered, mortified when she looked at Faramir and realized that he was included in 'us.' "I asked him not to—"

"Tell me that you had been assaulted in your own home?" Éowyn finished severely. "Really, Gúthwyn, did you think I would let the disturbing letter you sent me afterward slide? Since I could get nothing out of you, and Faramir was equally unsuccessful when he solicited Amrothos for the truth, I went to Éomer during our next visit and received a far more satisfactory explanation from him."

"Well," Gúthwyn said, burning in humiliation and incapable of even glancing in Legolas's direction, "then I suppose you already heard what happened after..." And so she was able to gloss over the rest of the visit from Dol Amroth once confirming they were knowledgeable of the matter.

Next came the growing nastiness and resentment on Lothíriel's part. Gúthwyn did her best to assure her sister that this was, in fact, her own fault for not discovering until too late that Elfwine's attachment to her was damaging his relationship with his mother. Yet any compassion that Éowyn may have felt faded not five minutes later, when Gúthwyn recounted Wífwen's fall from grace.

The White Lady was horrified to learn that Wífwen had dared to ruin Gúthwyn's dress not a day after spilling boiling soup on her lap, and it took quite awhile—not to mention Legolas's testimony—to convince her that the mishap with the stew had actually been an accident. Éowyn was immensely pleased to hear that Wífwen and Wulfríd had both received their comeuppance within an hour of each other, for she was not unaware of the bullying Hammel had once endured.

The last vestiges of whatever sympathy Éowyn might have had for Lothíriel, in light of Gúthwyn's recollections concerning Elfwine, vanished utterly when Éomund's youngest daughter spoke of Mildwen discovering Elphir's letters. As she described what her former betrothed had written to her, how he had beseeched her to put the rumors at rest and finally to deny the accusations Lothíriel had leveled against her, even Faramir became livid.

"I know Lothíriel can be conniving and sometimes cruel in order to get her way," he said, his voice laced with disgust, "but I would never have imagined her capable of destroying her brother's happiness over a petty grudge. Elphir was falling deeply in love with you, Gúthwyn—it was obvious in the letters he sent me."

"That is why I do not want you to enlighten him," Gúthwyn replied miserably. Meeting Faramir's bewildered gaze directly, she explained, "Though I admire him greatly, and sorely miss the friendship we once had, I am not in love with him and I was relieved when he broke off our engagement. I am certain that if he discovers the truth behind our falling out, he will determine to make amends and pursue a marriage again. I was honored that he once held me in such high esteem as to desire to wed me, but it would not be fair to pretend that my feelings for him are deeper than they are."

For a moment, Faramir looked as if he were tempted to argue with her. Yet after that day in the clearing, he could not. He was silent.

"Sister—" Éowyn began, neither as reticent nor as informed as her husband.

"Éowyn, please," Gúthwyn interrupted, well aware that Legolas was intently observing her. "I have made my decision and I beg you to respect it."

The White Lady opened her mouth to persevere, but Faramir said quickly, "What happened when Lothíriel discovered that Mildwen had found the letters?"

Reluctantly grateful for his timing, Gúthwyn hastened to continue her narration. To an increasingly astonished audience, she spoke of Lothíriel's disastrous attempt to have Mildwen fired—and how Nethiel had been dismissed as a result. There were a few more instances of petty behavior to recollect before at last Éomund's youngest daughter came to the day when her rivalry with the queen was finally exposed to Éomer.

Her heart and throat constricted as she told her sister how she had been playing with Elfwine shortly before they encountered Lothíriel on the stairs. The ensuing argument she repeated nearly word-for-word, or as closely as she could remember it. She was careful to emphasize her revelation that Lothíriel had been jealous of her all along, and thus was not as cold-hearted as her listeners now believed her to be.

As Gúthwyn brought the whole sordid tale to its wretched conclusion, however, it was obvious that her attempts to de-vilify her brother's wife had utterly failed. Éowyn's entire face was wrinkled in revulsion, as if a particularly horrible crime were being committed right in front of her. Even Faramir, a blood relative of Lothíriel, looked aghast.

"For the Valar's sake, baby sister," Éowyn finally breathed when Gúthwyn stopped talking, "why did you not _tell_ Éomer or I sooner? I cannot believe it—I had detected that the two of you were not as close as you could have been, but never did I—it makes me sick, thinking of all that she put you through!"

"I did not write to you or speak to Éomer," Gúthwyn replied, "because I did not want my nephew to grow up in a household where his parents despise each other. Since, regrettably, our brother is no longer in the dark about my problems with Lothíriel, I am hoping that my departure will at least give her a chance to interact more with her son—and perhaps make amends with Éomer."

"Have you no _spine_?" Cobryn was unable to stop himself from erupting. "This woman plots and schemes for _years_ to ruin your life, and when at last she is forced to stop you find a way to _pity_ her! Not only that, but you go out of your way to accommodate _her_ insecurities, despite the fact that this requires you to leave the place you have always said you would happily spend the rest of your days in!"

"How many times do I have to tell you," Gúthwyn retorted with equal fervor, "that I am doing this for Elfwine? I want what is best for my nephew, and that does not always align with what is best for me!"

"I agree with Cobryn," Éowyn said menacingly. "Elfwine is far more perceptive than most boys his age—I would be surprised if he has not already figured out that Lothíriel caused your sudden departure. Éomer's wife or not," she burst out furiously, "if I have to see that despicable woman before the year is out she will wish she had never been born. How _dare_ she behave so atrociously? Small wonder Elfwine loathed her!"

Legolas had yet to give his opinion about the queen of Rohan, but the expression on his face said quite enough.

"She was jealous of me," Gúthwyn explained patiently, embarrassed. "I told you, she was yelling about how everyone, Éomer and Elfwine and Imrahil included, loved me more than her. She really does believe that I have stolen them from her, that I connived to isolate her from her family. I think… I think she is a very bitter person."

Only Faramir appeared to be giving any weight to her speech. Éowyn, on the other hand, snorted contemptuously. "You are seeking to justify a hatred that can never be justified," she spat. "All the hurt feelings in the world could not possibly excuse what she and Amrothos did to you, nor even the less malicious acts of rumor-spreading that she engaged in. I cannot pretend to understand how you have managed to forgive her for what she has done—for which I believe the only possible reason is that you recently sustained a grievous head injury—and I, for one, will never treat her with any semblance of respect or courtesy."

"I admittedly have a conflict of interest," Faramir said quietly, "yet even I cannot absolve my cousin of her deeds. As long as you are here, Gúthwyn, she will not find welcome in Emyn Arnen. I promise."

_And just what is a promise of yours worth?_ Éomund's youngest daughter wondered, but she did not voice such mutinous thoughts. Instead, she bowed her head and murmured her abashed thanks.

The discussion continued for some time, Éowyn and Cobryn's voices becoming increasingly heated as Gúthwyn tried to plead Lothíriel's case with them. When at last it got to the point where they were both practically shouting at her, Faramir intervened and suggested that they all retire for the evening. Never had Gúthwyn been so eager to take the Steward up on an offer.

Still muttering unflattering things about Gúthwyn's capacity to reason under his breath, Cobryn bade them all goodnight and left. Éowyn and Faramir soon followed, but Legolas caught up to Gúthwyn before she had a chance to trail after her sister.

"Could I have a word?" he asked quietly, looking closely at her.

Gúthwyn suddenly found herself unable to see anything other than his deep blue eyes, and consequently had difficulty forming a comprehensible response. "O-Of course," she finally managed to stammer. "W-What is it?"

"I hope I did not make you uncomfortable earlier when I was asking about Éomer and Lothíriel," Legolas said worriedly. "I did not realize…"

"You did not know," Gúthwyn answered. "There is no need to apologize."

"Yet I am sorry," Legolas countered, "that your relationship with Elphir suffered as a result of Amrothos and Lothíriel's scheming. I understand that the two of you were devoted correspondents."

"Yes," Gúthwyn allowed, "we were good friends. I wish we were still."

She waited for Legolas to speak—it seemed as if he were on the verge of saying something—yet for a long moment there was silence. At last, he appeared to steel himself to inquire, "I am aware you have always claimed otherwise, but was there ever a time when you returned Elphir's affections?"

Gúthwyn blinked, startled. "No, never," she swore, bewildered. "If I were in love with him…" She swallowed, for Borogor's face had just floated across the surface of her memory with painful clarity. "I doubt I would have been able to conceal it."

Legolas's expression turned curious. "Forgive me for my boldness," he began hesitantly, causing a sinking sensation to emerge in Gúthwyn's stomach, "but have you ever been in love?"

Éomund's youngest daughter drew in a sharp breath, instantly seizing up. For a moment, all she could see was Borogor. "I-I am not married," she pointed out, hoping the shadows from the nearby candles were hiding the distress she was vividly conscious of. "That in itself is an answer."

As she stared up into the flickering depths of Legolas's gaze, she had the unsettling feeling that he was not entirely satisfied with her response. Desperate to cover up the pregnant pause in their conversation, she inquired, "What of yourself?"

Legolas started, apparently surprised that she had asked. "I, also, am not married," he replied with a small grin. "Much to my father's frequently voiced disappointment."

"Why?" Gúthwyn wondered, confused. "He does not have to worry about succession, does he? Since he is immortal?"

Legolas chuckled at the look on her face. "Having eternal life does not make you immune to weapons," he said. "Yet my father is more concerned about grandchildren—he desires to indulge them and then observe in amusement as I attempt to discipline them."

"Oh," Gúthwyn replied, taken aback by this strange viewpoint. "Well, perhaps in the future he will get his wish."

Legolas nodded, smiling at her. "Sooner than later, I hope," he said.

Gúthwyn opened her mouth to ask him what he meant, for his tone of voice had been rather enigmatic, but then he abruptly changed the subject. "Forgive me, I am delaying you from your rest. You likely have a full day tomorrow."

"Oh, no—" As a matter of fact, Éomund's youngest daughter had nothing on her schedule, but before she could say so Legolas bade her goodnight and disappeared down the hall. Gúthwyn stared after him in confusion, unsure of what had caused his sudden departure. The more she dwelled on it, the more she thought he had been embarrassed about something. What, though?

Shrugging her shoulders in resignation, Gúthwyn collected her thoughts and at length retired to her chambers. Soon there was a knock on her door: Nestadan had come to change her bandages. Several uncomfortable minutes later, he was gone and she could slip into a nightgown before climbing into bed. She fell asleep within seconds, utterly unaware that, three rooms away, an Elf was pacing the floor in consternation over a comment he had not intended to let slip.


	38. Faramir's Atonement

**Chapter Thirty-Eight**

Gúthwyn spent the next day wandering about Emyn Arnen, still trying to acquaint herself with her unfamiliar surroundings. It was incredibly strange to walk down the main road and not recognize a single face, though many correctly identified her as the White Lady's sister and acknowledged her with a nod or bow. Gúthwyn, of course, smiled back at them all—she did not wish to appear unfriendly—yet it was disconcerting to not be able to strike up a conversation with any of them.

After lunch, Legolas joined her outside and the two of them went on an idle stroll. Their discourse was light and inconsequential; Gúthwyn briefly wondered about his behavior the night before, but in the spirit of keeping things simple decided not to mention it. She had a suspicion that he, too, was purposefully avoiding talking about the previous evening: Lothíriel's name was not uttered once.

When Éomund's youngest daughter returned to her new lodgings, she sat down and wrote letters to Éomer, Elfwine, Lebryn, and Merry Brandybuck. To her brother, she directed mainly an account of her journey to Ithilien.

_You need not worry, Éomer,_ she penned, _for my shoulder will soon recover. I know you must be angry with me for running off into the forest like that and endangering myself, but I can assure you that I did far more damage to the Orc than I received. Éowyn has me seeing Nestadan, the healer at Emyn Arnen, every day, and he agrees with me that I shall soon be fit to resume my normal activities._

_I hope things are well at home, or at least better than they were when I left. Please give Elfwine an enormous hug and kiss for me. I miss him more than words could ever describe, and I cannot bear the thought of him feeling in anyway abandoned or betrayed by his aunt. What has he been doing this past week? Has he made any new friends? I wish I could see him. He is not too upset, is he?_

Elfwine's letter was shorter, keeping in mind the child's attention span, but far more cheerful.

_To my favorite nephew,_

_I am now in Ithilien with Auntie Éowyn and Uncle Faramir. Emyn Arnen is very pretty, but I much prefer Rohan. I miss you greatly, little one. You might like it here—your good friend Legolas is staying the week! All of the Elves are with him, including Trelan and Faelon. Legolas says he hopes that you are doing well, and he promises to bring you a toy when he next sees you._

_I will not keep you, for I expect that you have many friends to be playing with! Say hello to Onyveth and Lebryn for me. I miss you very much, Elfwine, and I will write every week until I can be with you again._

_All the love in Middle-earth, Auntie Gúthwyn_

To Lebryn, she composed a rather longer letter asking after his family and requesting that her friend keep an eye on Elfwine whenever their paths crossed. Merry, however, received a different kind of application. After she made numerous inquiries about him, Pippin, Frodo, and Sam, and expressed the hope that he would visit Rohan soon—for though she mentioned that she was temporarily living in Ithilien, she stressed Éomer's affection for the Hobbit and said that he would be overjoyed to host his faithful squire—she wrote:

_There is someone in Rohan whom I believe you would enjoy meeting. His name is Hunwald, and he is a soldier under my brother's command. He was a part of the company which escorted me to Emyn Arnen, and during one of our conversations it came up that he is quite interested in Ents! He told me that he had read as many books about them as he could, although he lamented the fact that these were few and far between. When I told him that you knew a great deal about Ents, having spent much time with Treebeard himself, he was quite awestruck._

_If it is not too much trouble, I hope that you might introduce yourself to him when you next journey to Edoras. He is full of questions about the venerable Ents, and who better than yourself (or Pippin, should he accompany you) to answer them? Hunwald would be exceedingly honored to make your acquaintance._

_Many regards, Gúthwyn_

When her letters were sealed, she left them on her desk—the messenger Éowyn and Faramir usually employed for long distances was currently en route from Dol Amroth—and sought out Hammel and Haiweth. Hammel, of course, was too busy reading one of the books he had just obtained from Faramir's library, and he made it very clear upon hearing Gúthwyn's knock that he was not welcoming company until he finished it.

Luckily, Haiweth did not mind socializing while she was drawing. She shared with Éomund's daughter her newest gown designs, which Gúthwyn was always pleased to report were of the highest taste and quality. One of them in particular, a flowing green dress with a prettily embroidered waistline, Haiweth's desirous expression lingered over; Gúthwyn resolved to ask Éowyn about possibly having the outfit made for the girl's birthday.

Before dinner, Gúthwyn met with Nestadan in her chambers. Éowyn, thankfully, was there, and drove most of the conversation as the healer changed Gúthwyn's bandages. Éomund's daughter deeply appreciated her older sister's presence, for she had yet to feel the remotest sense of comfort when alone with Nestadan. The man was quite friendly, and as long as Éowyn was there Éomund's youngest daughter could entertain the idea of becoming very good friends with him—but only with Éowyn in the room.

Eventually it was time for dinner, and with the meal came something that shattered the fragile comfort Gúthwyn had built for herself in Ithilien.

"So, sister, does Emyn Arnen appeal to you thus far?" Éowyn inquired after most of the Elves and assorted Rangers had retired for the evening. Cobryn and the children had also gone to bed early, leaving only Gúthwyn, Éowyn, Faramir, and Legolas at the table.

"It is beautiful," Éomund's youngest daughter replied earnestly. She felt a momentary twinge of guilt at having betrayed Borogor in even this small way, but she reminded herself that he had fallen in the north. "I am planning on walking through the gardens tomorrow, for I have not yet examined them up close."

Éowyn smiled in pleasure. "Perhaps Legolas should join you," she suggested, causing Gúthwyn to start. "He was very kind in sending me seedlings from several of the herbs and flowers that are now planted there."

"If it is not too much trouble," Gúthwyn hastened to say, not wanting Legolas to feel pressured into a stroll with her when he undoubtedly had better things to do.

"Not at all," Legolas assured her, however, his features showing nothing but willingness. "I would love to. Yet I cannot claim to know more about these plants than your sister."

"I do not think Gúthwyn has much interest in my reciting everything I have learned from my books on the subject," Éowyn said with a smirk. "She will be more than content under your tutelage."

Legolas's eyes met Gúthwyn's, and she was surprised at the blush that heated her cheeks.

"Since we now all have plans for tomorrow," Éowyn began, not noticing Gúthwyn's pink face, "perhaps we should pass the rest of the evening in entertainment before we go to bed?"

Yet Faramir straightened, and hastily spoke to his wife: "I was hoping to have a word with Gúthwyn, if you do not mind."

It was hard to tell which of the two sisters was more stunned. Gúthwyn recoiled, her mind reeling with both guesses as to what he wanted to talk to her about and half-formed plans as to how to avoid this confrontation; Éowyn recovered first, and with the air of someone smoothing over an unexpected snag in their designs replied, "By all means, go ahead. Shall Legolas and I wait for you?"

A look of great discomfort passed over Faramir's face. "We may be awhile," he said reluctantly. Gúthwyn gaped at him in dismay.

"How long?" Éowyn inquired slowly, at the same time Gúthwyn asked in desperation:

"Can this not wait until tomorrow?"

"I shall need, perhaps, half an hour of her time," Faramir spoke, addressing Éowyn first. "I would prefer not to delay it until the morning." His tone implied that he was trying to get something very unpleasant over with as quickly as possible.

Looking rather bewildered, Éowyn nevertheless conceded. "I am sure Legolas and I can manage to keep each other company until the two of you return," she ventured, smiling tentatively.

"Er—yes," Faramir agreed, getting to his feet. "Gúthwyn, please, follow me."

Gúthwyn gazed pleadingly at her sister, but though Éowyn was obviously just as nonplussed as she, the White Lady did not rescue her from the awful predicament she was now in. Realizing that no help would come to her, Gúthwyn took as much time as she reasonably could in getting to her feet. What could Faramir want with her? They had already discussed the matter of the Rangers who had been present at Borogor's death. What more did they need to talk about?

Yet Faramir did not say anything once they had quitted the main hall, and instead he led her outside through a small side door. The warm breeze was welcome, but Éomund's daughter could not stop herself from shivering. She did not like the idea of being outdoors with just the Steward, for it brought back too many memories that she would rather forget. And now, with the trees swaying gently all around her, she felt too close to that afternoon in the forest.

"What do you want?" she snapped, abandoning all pretense of politeness.

"There is something I must show you," Faramir replied quietly. "Come with me."

He turned and began striding towards the woods; Gúthwyn hesitated for a moment, and then ran to catch up with him. Curiosity had overcome her better sense, though she regretted her decision the moment she saw the path that disappeared into the tree line.

"Where are you taking me?" she demanded as Faramir stepped onto the trail.

"It will only be a ten-minute walk," Faramir informed her, deliberately not answering the question.

Disconcerted, Gúthwyn folded her arms across her stomach and kept herself a few paces behind Faramir as they delved deep into the forest. Theirs was not a well-used path: more than once, the Steward had to push aside the brambles that were slowly beginning to reclaim their territory. The only times he spoke to her were to warn her of roots that had broken through the ground and were potentially dangerous.

After a few minutes, the trees became so thick that the light filtering through the branches grew scarce. Gúthwyn stopped moving altogether and questioned shrilly, "Where are we going?"

Faramir came to a halt and looked at her, observing the way she was trembling in fear. Éomund's daughter hated herself for revealing such a weakness, but it was impossible not to: she hated the night even more.

"Are you afraid of the dark?" Faramir questioned softly, pity in his gaze. Gúthwyn could have killed him for it.

"No," she lied irritably, though even as she spoke she wrapped her arms more securely around herself.

"I should have brought a torch," Faramir said apologetically. "I did not realize. Our destination will be well-lit, I promise."

"How much longer?" Gúthwyn could not stop herself from asking.

"We shall be there soon," Faramir responded calmly.

They continued their walk. Excepting the occasional call of a nocturnal animal or bird, the forest was utterly still. Gúthwyn forged bravely ahead, all the while attempting to guess what Faramir wanted her so badly to see. As she contemplated all the possibilities in her mind, turning them over and over until she either dismissed them or marked them as not entirely improbable, a horrible suspicion that she could not shake began to grow inside of her.

_No,_ she thought, trying to rid herself of it, reminding herself that it was illogical. Yet it persisted, latching onto her insides and gnawing on them until she was nauseous. What would she do if—but it could not be. Now, more than ever, she was regretting her decision to come to Ithilien.

After what felt like years, but in reality was only a few minutes, Gúthwyn and Faramir emerged into a small, idyllic clearing. The moonlight bathed the forest floor in silver, creating a luminescent glow that quietly awed Éomund's daughter. Here grew the purest white and gold flowers, the most elegant trees. Gúthwyn knew that she would never have seen this beautiful place had Faramir not brought her to it, for the path they had taken was almost unnoticeable to the casual observer.

"Why did you take me here?" she asked in confusion, finally removing her gaze from the star-strewn skies so that she could see the Steward of Gondor.

In response, Faramir turned towards the center of the clearing, towards something that Gúthwyn had not noticed in her wonder of their surroundings. When she realized what it was, she froze. All the air was squeezed out of her lungs; she felt light-headed, dizzy with horror. Not five feet away from her, the ground rose for a yard or two before gently falling down again. The raised patch of earth was covered in delicate white blossoms, but the foliage was fresher than what was in the rest of the forest. The blades of grass were shorter, tidier, newer.

It was a burial mound.

As Gúthwyn stared at Borogor's grave in shock, every inch of her body trembling, Faramir explained. "The day he died—"

"The day you killed him," Gúthwyn whispered, suddenly finding it difficult to speak.

"The day I killed him," Faramir conceded softly, "I received orders from my father to bring reinforcements to Osgiliath, where it was feared that Sauron would soon launch an attack. I could have laid Borogor to rest before I left, and indeed that is what many of the Rangers urged me to do. Yet I did not know then how long the defenses in northern Ithilien would last, and I could not bring myself to bury him in that area of the forest when I feared it would soon be overrun by the Enemy.

"And so I brought him here. My men did not understand why I cared so much, but I confess..." Faramir took a deep breath, and looked Gúthwyn right in the eye. "Your face haunted my thoughts until the day I buried him. I had seen the immeasurable grief I caused you, and my heart warned me that I could not fully honor your request to protect his body unless I bore him far away from the war. Taking him here was the only way I knew how to atone for what I had done, for I did not believe I would ever see you again."

Then, at last, they came: the tears Gúthwyn had never shed for the man she loved, the tears she had shied from and fought against for almost a decade. No more could they be held back. With a force too great for her to contest, they welled up in her eyes and began spilling down her cheeks. The knowledge that Borogor was so close to her, and yet utterly untouchable, tore at Éomund's daughter until she could scarcely stand for misery.

"Gúthwyn, I am so sorry," Faramir murmured, his words almost lost on her as she staggered towards Borogor's grave.

Gúthwyn did not, could not, reply; she fell to her knees in front of the burial mound, her body already convulsing with the sobs that were now echoing throughout the clearing. She was incapable of thought. There was only Borogor, only the memories of him that were flooding her senses. He was the man who had cared for her children, the man who had dared to stand up for her against Haldor; he had held her, protected her, loved her. And now, there was nothing left of him but the bones that were turning into dust beneath her feet.

"Please," she choked out, knowing that Faramir was still there, watching her, "just go..."

She felt, rather than saw, him leave. Suddenly she could no longer bring herself to hate her sister's husband, not when the vanity of it all had just been flung in her face. No matter what she said or did to Faramir, Borogor was gone. Curling in on herself as the full magnitude of her helplessness finally came crashing down upon her, she cried out in anguish and clutched at the dirt upon Borogor's grave as if she could pull him, alive and whole again, from the earth.

The ground below her darkened with her tears as she wept for the lover she had never kissed. The man she had no future with. The dreams that would never come true, no matter how hard she wished for them. Yet most of all, she wept for the memories that were already starting to fade, the memories that would ebb away with time until the very image of Borogor began to erode along with them.

As Gúthwyn sobbed and sobbed, her body slowly crumpled until she lay across Borogor's grave. The scent of the flowers pressed against her nose was sweet, and their silky petals as soft as any mattress could be, but she barely noticed their presence. She cried harder than she had ever cried in her entire life, than she ever would cry again. A quarter of an hour, then another, passed; time did nothing to slow the torrent of tears.

The moon was still shining serenely as the last words of Borogor's chapter in Gúthwyn's life were finally written.

* * *

><p>In Gúthwyn and Faramir's absence, the conversation between Legolas and Éowyn was strained at best. Éowyn was obviously completely bewildered as to what had just transpired between her husband and her sister, and Legolas was equally curious—yet not at liberty to discuss the matter. He had seen the look of apprehension on Gúthwyn's face as she followed the Steward out of the room, and he had also marked the slight trembling of her limbs. It was not the first occasion on which Legolas had noticed the tension between the two of them, but his interest had never been as piqued as it was now.<p>

"Where could they have gone?" Éowyn asked for the fifth time in just as many minutes, her brow wrinkling in consternation. "They left almost half an hour ago!"

Legolas had given up on trying to provide an explanation, for he simply could not think of any. Instead he smiled sympathetically, and opened his mouth in an attempt to distract Éowyn from her preoccupation. Yet the White Lady spoke before he had a chance to inquire about her herb gardens: "There is something between the two of them, I know it."

At Legolas's stunned expression, Éowyn clarified herself. "I do not mean romantically," she assured him. "However…" She paused, then sighed. "Forgive me. You need not trouble yourself with my petty concerns."

"Please, continue," Legolas urged her, Gúthwyn's anxious face floating on the surface of his mind. "Whatever your concerns may be, they are not petty."

Éowyn smiled gratefully at him. "Thank you, Legolas," she replied. "I suppose… I have never been able to put my finger on it, yet there has always been this distance between them. Gúthwyn hates Faramir, I know it—but I cannot figure out why."

"Hates?" Legolas echoed, looking closely at Éowyn. "That is a strong accusation."

Éowyn shook her head. "She positively despises him. She cannot even try to hide it, that is how potent her feelings towards him are. I have asked Faramir why this is, but he always claims it must be because I no longer live in Edoras with her; he says that she likely believes he has taken me away from her. Unfortunately for Faramir, he is even worse of a liar than Gúthwyn—it is obvious that he is not telling me the truth."

Legolas raised his eyebrows, not having expected such open deceit from the Steward of Gondor. "How long has this been an issue?"

"Since the day I introduced them," Éowyn responded with a sigh.

"Are you sure they had not met previously?" Legolas inquired, now just as confused as the White Lady.

Éowyn hesitated before she replied. "They both insist they had never seen each other before, but if that is the case then I am at a loss as to guess at their behavior."

"Perhaps—" Legolas began, though he was never able to finish his sentence. For at that moment, the door that Gúthwyn and Faramir had exited the main hall through opened once more. Yet now, it was only Faramir who stepped into the room.

"Where is Gúthwyn?" Éowyn demanded almost immediately as the Steward walked over to them, his expression somber. To Legolas, he looked as if the weight of several years had just been placed on his shoulders.

"She needed some time alone," Faramir answered, unable to meet his wife's gaze for more than a few seconds.

Legolas saw Éowyn draw in a deep breath, as if ordering herself to remain composed. "Where did you go?" she questioned with forced calm.

"Outside and a little ways into the woods," Faramir said unhelpfully, glancing at Legolas. Legolas stared just as unsupportively back, his normal goodwill towards the Steward marred by his worry for Gúthwyn.

"My sister is terrified of the dark!" Éowyn gasped, leaping to her feet. "She also has no sense of direction—she must be completely lost! Faramir, your judgment has always been sound; but may I ask, _what on Middle-earth you were thinking?_" And she would have stormed irately out of the dwelling if Faramir had not jumped up and stayed her gently by the arm.

"Éowyn, please," the Steward murmured beseechingly. "I promise, your sister is safe. I left her in a clearing not far from here, where there was plenty of moonlight. All she has to do to return is follow the path—"

"What clearing?" Éowyn suddenly interrupted, her eyes narrowing. "Not the one with the burial mound?"

The stricken expression on Faramir's face was answer enough, and Éowyn's breath seemed to catch in her throat. "Does she _know_ that person?" she interrogated the Steward in astonishment.

Legolas frowned as Faramir grudgingly nodded. Thranduil's son had always been well aware that Gúthwyn was a mysterious woman in many ways, not least because of her past in both Isengard and Mordor; yet this new piece of the puzzle was quite beyond him to fit in with the others. What was the connection between Faramir, Gúthwyn, and the human who evidently lay buried in the woods of Emyn Arnen? Who was the person, for that matter? Had he or she been someone that Gúthwyn cared for?

"Faramir," Éowyn spoke, her voice deadly quiet and forceful, "too long have you and Gúthwyn kept secrets from me. Why does my sister loathe you? What happened tonight? Tell me, or—"

"Éowyn, I swear to you I will explain everything," Faramir vowed, lowering his voice as if he thought Legolas would not hear him. "I cannot share the same home as Gúthwyn and pretend… but please, not here."

"When will she be back?" Éowyn demanded.

"I—I do not know," Faramir admitted.

"Then we shall wait for her," Éowyn declared, her voice so formidable that neither her husband nor Legolas dared oppose her. "And once she returns, I will learn _everything_. Have I made myself perfectly clear?"

There was nothing Faramir could do except concede to his wife. Once Éowyn was satisfied that her inquiries would eventually be answered, she was more than content to sit back down. As the Steward followed suit, Legolas reflected that the polite thing for him to do in this situation would be to excuse himself and leave. Regardless of what was happening between Gúthwyn and Faramir, it was none of his business.

Yet he could not bring himself to be that courteous—at least, not so soon. Every fiber of his being urged him to stay long enough to ensure Gúthwyn's safe return, for he and Éowyn clearly had the same qualms about Éomund's youngest daughter wandering about in the dead of night. Indeed, it was all he could do to restrain himself from going out to search for her. He did not like the thought of his friend out in the dark, alone and possibly distraught with grief. It was difficult to convince himself to remain in place, allowing her to make her way back to the lodge on her own time.

When at last she returned, Legolas told himself, he would depart. Éowyn, Faramir, and Gúthwyn clearly needed time and privacy to sort this matter out; and since he was not a member of their family, he had no right to be there while they did. He fought against the curiosity that had risen within him, the burning desire to know whose grave Gúthwyn had just been shown.

Fifteen minutes went by, however, and still Gúthwyn did not reappear. Éowyn had now taken to staring fixatedly at the door, her fingers curled so tightly over the armrests of her chair that they were bone white. Legolas, too, could not help glancing in that direction rather frequently. Only Faramir did not seem to consider Gúthwyn's lengthy absence worrisome: from the few half-hearted attempts at conversation he made with Éowyn, Legolas garnered the impression that he did not expect Éomund's youngest daughter to return for some time.

Yet when the half-hour mark had come and gone, Faramir's troubled visage matched his companions'. Éowyn was practically beside herself with worry.

"Are you _certain_ she knew how to get back?" she interrogated her husband for perhaps the hundredth time.

"Yes, I am," Faramir replied evenly.

"I swear," Éowyn began furiously, "if she is not here in ten minutes, I—"

What the White Lady would have done, had Gúthwyn not returned in the designated time period, Faramir and Legolas never found out. For mid-sentence, the door opened and a slight, feminine figure staggered inside. She lifted her head after a few seconds, perhaps sensing that they were all staring at her. When she did, Legolas drew in a sharp breath.

Gúthwyn's face, soaked in tears and streaked with dirt, bore the most wretched expression Thranduil's son had ever seen in all his several hundred years of life. She looked as if one of the children or Elfwine had just been murdered in front of her own eyes. Her dress was covered in grass stains. Every limb of her body trembled with the effort it was clearly taking her not to sob.

In that moment, Legolas knew he had never truly understood grief before. In his time on Middle-earth, he had been lucky: he had witnessed few deaths that were meaningful to him, and rarely had he experienced loss. Yet this good fortune had left him utterly unprepared for the horrible sight that he was now transfixed by, for this exposure to such raw and naked misery. He could hardly bear it, and it was not even his own.

Éowyn was the first to break the stunned silence. "Sister!" she cried in alarm, jumping out of her chair and starting towards Gúthwyn.

The White Lady had barely taken more than a couple of steps before Gúthwyn gave a strangled cry and fled the room, shielding her face with her pale hands. Her departure was so abrupt that, for a precious instant, those she had left behind could only gape after her in shock.

Then there was a quick flurry of movement, and suddenly Faramir was physically restraining Éowyn from chasing after her sister.

"Unhand me!" Éowyn snarled, attempting to wrench her arm out of the Steward's grasp.

"Let her go," Faramir said tersely, not loosening his grip. "She needs to be alone—"

"Not when she looks like that," Éowyn snapped, still struggling. "Release me at once!"

"She is in mourning," Faramir responded quietly. "Do not go to her tonight—she will not want company. Please, leave her be until tomorrow."

"Mourning for _who_?" Éowyn hissed.

Before Faramir could answer, Legolas rose to his feet and announced his retirement. It did not take a wizard to deduce that the Steward was reluctant to discuss whatever was plaguing Gúthwyn in front of a visitor. Thranduil's son had to put aside his own curiosity, though it was positively throbbing inside of him.

"Goodnight," Éowyn and Faramir said simultaneously, distractedly. Legolas inclined his head and left the hall, his mind rapidly dissecting all that had just occurred. He was so absorbed in his thoughts that he almost made it to his chambers without noticing the sounds coming from Gúthwyn's room.

When at last he became aware of them, he stopped in the middle of the passage and then tentatively walked the rest of the way to her quarters. His heart twisted: she was crying inconsolably, her muffled sobs echoing throughout the corridor with poignant clarity. It was not the first time he had heard Éomund's daughter weep, but never had she been so unreserved with her tears. Such anguish was discomfiting for him to listen to—he was an intruder on her grief, albeit unintentionally, and he knew she would be mortified if she discovered that he was standing outside her door.

Though it was against every instinct of his to turn away without comforting her, Legolas retraced his steps back to his room and quietly slipped inside. Here, the walls were thick—but for an Elf, not thick enough. Gúthwyn's cries were now muted, yet still audible. Not once did they cease as he undressed, washed himself, and climbed into bed; nor did they stop, save for a few brief pauses for her to catch her breath, until well past midnight.

When at last there was silence, Legolas knew that she had not finished grieving: she had merely sobbed herself to sleep.


	39. Understanding

**Chapter Thirty-Nine**

Mercifully, Faramir was able to convince Éowyn to accompany him back to their bedchambers before he was forced to give an account of everything in the middle of the great hall. This, unfortunately, required them to enter the corridor in which Gúthwyn's room was located. Even through the walls, the heart-wrenching sounds of her sobs hammered painfully in his ears. Éowyn's expression darkened as she glanced towards the door behind which her sister lay, and she appeared none too pleased when she looked back at Faramir.

The Steward swallowed as he entered the quarters he shared with his wife. Although he knew that killing Borogor had been his duty to Gondor, and he had not enjoyed a moment of slaughtering the man's scouting troop, he wondered if Éowyn would see it that way. She was a rational woman, but the grief her younger sister had suffered as a result of Faramir's actions would put things in an entirely different light.

He did not have much time to prepare himself before Éowyn sat on the bed and fixed him with a steely glare. "Explain," she commanded.

Cautiously, Faramir lowered himself onto the mattress beside her. "I am sorry I did not inform you of this earlier," he said guiltily. "Gúthwyn did not wish me to. I would have—"

A finger came up and pressed gently against the Steward's lips. "Faramir," Éowyn hushed him, "just tell me now." She pulled back her hand and let it fall onto her lap, though a second later she was twisting it anxiously.

Faramir sent a brief prayer to the Valar, asking for Éowyn's forgiveness. "I-I met your sister," he began, looking straight into his wife's eyes, "almost a year before I saw you in the Houses of Healing. She came into Ithilien with scouts from Mordor."

Now it was Éowyn's turn to appear uncomfortable. "Faramir—"

He shook his head. That story he wanted to hear, but first he had to relieve himself of the unbearable weight upon his shoulders. "It can wait," he assured Éowyn, and she exhaled slowly. "Normally, I let the scouts of the Enemy—especially the enslaved men—go unharmed. I did not wish to draw attention to the small numbers of the Rangers, and I knew that none of Sauron's servants would ever discover Henneth Annûn on their own. There was nothing for them to learn in Ithilien, and as such I did not see reason to kill them. My father once agreed with me on this.

"About a month before your sister came, however, my orders changed. I was to attack any Enemy troops whose forces were not too great for my own, and if possible I was to leave no survivors. My father desired to hinder the mustering of Sauron's army in any way he could; and thus, I received the command to massacre rather than observe in hiding."

For once, Éowyn had nothing to say: she was transfixed by his words, waiting for the gaps in her knowledge to be filled. Faramir had to rouse himself to continue. "In early June, a group of slaves from Mordor entered the forest. I knew they did not serve the Enemy willingly, for my men reported that their fireside conversations were of memories from home and how they longed to return."

"And my sister was among them?" Éowyn guessed, her breathing uneven.

Faramir nodded. "I noticed immediately that she was very close to the leader. I thought they were brother and sister. He was tall, with dark hair and a kind disposition; he treated all of his companions with respect. I recognized Gondorian blood in him. Gúthwyn walked alongside him by day, and slept near him at night. When I wounded him in the skirmish I commanded to test the slaves' skill, it was she who tended to him. He permitted her to do this, even though she had no experience with a needle."

Éowyn gave a strangled sort of laugh at this.

"On the seventh of June, I gave the following instructions to my Rangers: with the exception of your sister, all of the slaves were to be slaughtered as quickly and cleanly as possible. I took no pleasure in these orders, and indeed it was this part of my job that I hated the most. Yet though I knew they were thralls, I could not shirk my duties and lower myself even further in the eyes of my father.

"While my men surrounded their campsite, waiting for my word to start the attack, I watched the leader. I saw him approach your sister and ask to speak to her. He took her hands in his own, tenderly." Éowyn gasped a little, making Faramir's story even more difficult to tell. "He was distracted; it was the perfect opportunity. I gave the signal, and within seconds the ambush had been sprung.

"Gúthwyn and the leader fought well. She did not seem particularly adept with a bow, but with her sword she was deadly. I believe she slew more of my men than anyone else in her company, never realizing that her life was not at stake. The leader was a skilled warrior, yet he often neglected to kill a Ranger in favor of protecting your sister. She was not aware that he deterred the strongest and most talented of her attackers away from her, though it was obvious.

"At last, only she and the leader were left. As my men closed in on them, he yelled for her to run and save herself. She refused, and took up a bow. When she aimed at me, I did not think I had to worry. I had seen her earlier attempts at shooting: forgive me, but they were abysmal at best. I realized a second too late, however, that I had underestimated her, and that her arrow was flying straight towards me."

Here Faramir paused, quietly mourning the valiant Ranger who had saved his life. "My second-in-command flung himself in front of me, and received the death that should have been mine. I had been close friends with him; I wanted vengeance for his loss. Forgetting the half-formed plan in my mind to spare the leader along with your sister, I fitted an arrow to my bow and shot him. He died instantly.

"To this day, I still remember Gúthwyn's screams. They filled the entire clearing, and only then did I comprehend the strength of her attachment to him. She ran to his body, and I could see her searching for any signs of life. When she realized that he would never open his eyes again, she appeared to lose all her energy—as if something inside of her had died. I will never forget the way she looked at me when I came over to her. Her gaze was hollow, empty, beyond all normal expression of grief.

"I asked her what her name was. She did not answer. Then she told me that the leader was called Borogor. When I probed further, I learned that they were not brother and sister. She could not take her eyes off of his corpse; she appeared not to know what to do with herself now that he was gone. I was about to suggest that she come with my men when she prostrated herself in front of me and begged me to give Borogor a proper burial. She cried, 'Please, my lord, do not let him rot where he lies!'"

Éowyn was blinking rapidly. Faramir was about to ask her whether something had caught in her eye when she trembled, and he realized that she was fighting back tears. His gut clenched; he looked away from her, unable to bear the disgust and hatred he feared he might see in her gaze, and told the rest of the story to his lap.

"After I promised her I would, I offered her food and shelter. I told her she could bury her friend, and once she had laid him to rest I would escort her in whichever direction she wished to the boundaries of Ithilien. Yet she refused, saying that she had loved ones in Mordor who would suffer in her absence."

"Hammel and Haiweth," Éowyn filled in, sighing.

Faramir was not surprised by this, having long ago guessed at the children's origins. "Yes," he agreed. "Gúthwyn then disappeared into the woods, and I did not ever expect to see her again. I assumed she eventually perished, for I doubted a woman would survive long in Mordor. Yet in honor of her request, I brought Borogor's body here—where I knew it would long be safe from the servants of the Enemy, who were trampling the ground beneath them as they swarmed through Ithilien—and buried him.

"I thought the matter over, and I sought to put it from my mind; yet ever and anon it returned to haunt me, and I suffered nightmares in which I heard his shouts and her screams. On those nights I would awaken suddenly, panting in fear, shuddering in remorse. Eventually these stopped, and I believed I had escaped. Then, however, I met you... and you introduced me to your sister.

"Gúthwyn's hatred of me was… potent, to say the least. She abhorred me. Whenever I tried to speak to her, she looked at me in disgust and spurned all my attempts at conversation. I did not succeed in getting any answers out of her until the night of our wedding, when she fled the Golden Hall shortly after the ceremony. I followed her outside, and asked her to tell me what he had meant to her.

"'Everything,' was her response. She told me how he had protected her and the children in Mordor, how he had tended to her and them while they were sick. Then she said that she had later found out that the moment he had taken her hands in the clearing, he had been… he had been summoning the courage to ask her to marry him."

"A-And she returned his feelings?" Éowyn questioned, stunned.

Faramir nodded.

"By the Valar," Éowyn whispered, drawing in a shaky breath. "My poor baby sister…" For some time, she was so moved that she could not give voice to her thoughts. "So that is why the two of you acted so strangely in the garden," she at length broke the silence, "why you never became friends… and why you were never as upset with her as I was. I always assumed that Gúthwyn was put out that I had left her so soon, and she held an unreasonable grudge against you for it. Had I known…" She pressed a quivering hand to her mouth.

"Had you known, would you have married me?" Faramir asked quietly, dreading the answer.

"Of course I would have," Éowyn responded sincerely, reaching out and squeezing Faramir's hand. The gesture made his heart sing with relief. "You were carrying out your orders in a dark time of war—you cannot be faulted for that, and indeed I must thank you for showing such kindness to Gúthwyn. Yet had I known what happened that day, I would have been far more sensitive to her feelings than I am afraid I was. I feel awful now, remembering how often I spoke of you in her presence. It was nearly all I talked about in Gondor... How she endured it as much as she did, I cannot even imagine..."

Éowyn buried her face in her hands. "I cannot believe I never questioned her behavior closer!" she cried out in consternation, her voice muffled through her palms. "If only I had stopped thinking about _myself_ long enough, if I had but once considered that there was more to what I deemed petty selfishness…"

"Gúthwyn loves you, regardless," Faramir murmured soothingly, gently putting an arm around her. "She kept the truth from you because she did not want it to cloud your marriage. For years, I have done the same… but I knew it would not last with her and I living under the same roof."

Éowyn dwelled on this before remarking, "I understand so much more about her now… When we last visited Rohan, there was one day when she was miserable, and no one could figure out why—that was the seventh of June, was it not? And how she has always been so resistant to the idea of wedding another… I thought it was fear, yet…" She trailed off, staring bleakly at the floor.

"Éowyn, your picture of Gúthwyn may be complete," Faramir spoke, "but mine is not. I have told you everything I know, and now I ask that you return the favor. What was your sister, then the beloved niece of Rohan's king, doing as a slave in Mordor in the first place?"

For a full minute, Éowyn did not respond. Her features were contorted in a grimace, as if she were in pain. Then, finally, she exhaled. "The story is long," she whispered, shuddering, "and horrifying. Do I have your word that you will not so much as whisper it to anyone?"

"Do you have to ask?" Faramir questioned, locking eyes with his wife.

"No," Éowyn admitted with a smile, "I do not. But swear to me that you will not even speak of this with Gúthwyn. She has been tormented by the memories for years, and more than anything she needs to forget about what she went through."

"I promise," Faramir vowed firmly.

Éowyn briefly closed her eyes, seemingly to search within herself for the strength to begin. "It happened on Gúthwyn's twelfth birthday," she eventually said. "We brought her away from Edoras to teach her how to wield a sword…

* * *

><p>The first rumors of light murmured gently against Gúthwyn's window the next morning, causing Éomund's daughter to reluctantly stir. Her eyelids fluttered; she tried to close them, to delay the moment of awakening, but it was too late. With a sigh, she resigned herself to being conscious. The pillow was warm against her cheek, and the covers thick. It was so tempting to burrow beneath them and never get up, yet for some reason she could not slide back into a dreamless state.<p>

Then she remembered: her sleep had not been dreamless. There had been Borogor, his arms wrapped around her; a gentle kiss on her brow, a promise of love forever, a goodbye. Gradually, the events of the night before resurfaced in her mind. She had been lulled into a false sense of security, seduced by the beauty of Emyn Arnen. Comfort had been hers, or so she had thought.

For Faramir had brought her to Borogor's grave, and now everything had changed. She no longer knew where she stood, where she would go. Tears innumerable had been wrung from her, leaving a startling sense of closure in their wake. It felt as if the door to a room she had long tarried inside of had finally shut her out, giving her no other choice but to venture down the rest of an unfamiliar hallway.

Gúthwyn swallowed as the lump in her throat hardened. She would never know why the Valar had cursed her to a life without Borogor, when already they had condemned her to years of terror and humiliation. At the end of the day, however, what mattered was that she had survived. In spite of everything the Valar had thrown at her, she was alive and had the remainder of her days to account for. She could not spend them all grieving for Borogor, no matter how much she missed him.

Unfortunately, the week ahead of her would be trying. On top of the knowledge that Borogor's body was a ten-minute walk away from her dwelling, she would have to deal with the questions that Éowyn and Legolas would undoubtedly be asking. The latter would not be difficult: Legolas would never press her for information that she was unwilling to give. She was grateful for his courtesy in this regard, as it meant one less painful interrogation to endure.

Éowyn, on the other hand… Gúthwyn reached behind her and pulled her pillow over her face, as if in doing so she could possibly hope to escape her sister's inquiries. Éowyn would never let her go until she had received a satisfactory explanation. Gúthwyn dimly remembered catching a glimpse of the White Lady's stunned expression when she stumbled back into the main hall; such a shock could not go unaddressed.

As Éomund's daughter lay there, wallowing in the stress of trying to determine what she should tell Éowyn, there was a knock on the door. For a long moment, Gúthwyn contemplated pretending she was asleep to avoid company. As tempting as the idea was, however, eventually she would have to face the outside world. Praying it was only Haiweth seeking an opinion on a recent drawing, Gúthwyn moved the pillow aside and pushed herself up into a sitting position. "Come in," she called out.

The flash of golden hair gave her hope before she realized that it was Éowyn, carrying with her a vase of the most beautiful white flowers Gúthwyn had ever seen. As the White Lady slowly approached her bed, Éomund's youngest daughter tried to read her expression. What had Faramir divulged to her, if anything? No—he had to have said something. Éowyn's eyes were full of pity as she set the flowers atop the nightstand; when she sat down on the mattress, she reached out and took Gúthwyn's hand. "Faramir told me everything," she said quietly.

Gúthwyn bit back a cry. "E-Everything?" she repeated, unable to endure Éowyn's penetrating gaze.

"Everything," Éowyn confirmed shakily. "Sister, I am so sorry... I had no idea how much pain I was causing you each time I spoke of Faramir around you, or when I urged you to find a husband. If I had discovered what Faramir had done, or that you were in love with Borogor, I would never have been so insensitive."

Gúthwyn had not thought herself in possession of any tears left to shed; she was astonished to feel them sliding down her cheeks at Éowyn's words. "I-It is all right," she whispered, wiping them away with her free hand. "You d-do not have to a-a-apologize..."

"I do," Éowyn corrected her. "I have been so harsh with you, when I only knew half the story. I wish I had not been so angry at you when you were avoiding Faramir; I regret that I did not try to find out why."

"There is nothing to forgive," Gúthwyn choked out, her face slowly turning wet.

Éowyn pulled her close and embraced her. "You loved him greatly, did you not?"

Gúthwyn suddenly could not speak, she was crying so hard.

"Oh, sister," she dimly heard Éowyn say, and then the tears were falling faster and her hair was being stroked and she was a child again in the arms of her mother. The second round of sobbing was even more exhausting than the first: when at last she had wept herself dry, she felt weary to the very bone.

As she made a few feeble efforts to wipe her eyes, Éowyn suggested, "Perhaps today we can spend some time alone, just you and I?"

Gúthwyn's spirits lifted slightly, and she gave a tentative smile. "I-I would like that," she replied.

Éowyn hugged her again. "How does a long ride sound to you?"

"Where?" Gúthwyn questioned in confusion. There were certainly no open fields anywhere nearby.

"There are several paths through the woods," Éowyn answered, solving the mystery as to how anyone managed to exercise their horses in Emyn Arnen. "One of them brings you past a beautiful waterfall."

Gúthwyn's eyes widened. Excepting the Falls of Rauros near Amon Hen, which she had only caught a glimpse of, she had never seen a waterfall before. She had not known that there were any in Emyn Arnen.

"If you would like to talk about Borogor, you may," Éowyn gently said to her; "but if not, then we shall enjoy the scenery and you can tell me all about Elfwine's latest adventures."

The thought of her nephew made Gúthwyn's cheeks glow. Although she had not seen him in over a week—a long, trying week—her memories of him could still be added to. "Thank you," she murmured to Éowyn. "And thank you for the flowers."

"Those are not from me," Éowyn said, glancing at the vase on the nightstand. "Legolas asked me to give them to you."

"Legolas?" Gúthwyn repeated, surprised. She looked at the beautiful blossoms, touched by the gesture.

"He was very concerned about you, both last night and this morning," Éowyn informed her. "He cares deeply for you."

Éowyn spoke hesitantly, as if wary of Gúthwyn's reaction, but Éomund's youngest daughter did not understand why. Éowyn had done nothing wrong, after all. She, on the other hand, now felt guilty for the way she had once treated Legolas, when he was being so kind to her. He obviously considered her a close friend; yet what had she ever done to merit this?

"I must thank him," she declared, not just referring to the flowers. "He is very generous."

"Yes, he is," Éowyn agreed with a small smile. "Shall I leave you now to get dressed, or would you like more time in bed before we go?"

For a moment Gúthwyn was tempted to linger in her room, but she reminded herself that lying in all day would only make her feel sorry for herself. "I will change," she announced, struggling to sit up straight.

"Come outside when you are done," Éowyn bade her. In a more subdued voice, she added, "Faramir is practicing archery with his men, so you do not have to worry about running into him."

Gúthwyn feigned nonchalance as she nodded, for she still did not want her older sister to be offended by her avoidance of the Steward—despite the fact that Éowyn now knew why. It seemed a poor repayment of the kindness the White Lady had shown her, and Éomund's daughter did not wish to cause her any more grief.

Once Éowyn left, Gúthwyn took a deep breath to compose herself. It was difficult to even move without thinking of Borogor, yet she refused to crawl back into bed and succumb to misery. She had done enough of that in her life. It was time to stop living in the past and face her future.

As she stood, her gaze fell upon the flowers that Legolas had brought her. She had never seen their like before, though the flora and fauna in Emyn Arnen were plentiful. Bending over, she slowly inhaled their perfume. It was quite dissimilar anything she had ever smelled, but she could not find the right words to describe why or how. Yet it was sweet, and put her at ease.

Eventually turning away from the blossoms, she went to her washbasin and rinsed her face. Gradually the streaks of dirt faded, erasing the painful reminders. She scrubbed until her cheeks were raw, red, and shining. When at last she was satisfied, she crossed the room and pulled a gown out of her wardrobe at random. A moment later, she was fully clothed and in the process of brushing her hair. Her strokes were quick and impatient—she did not want to keep Éowyn waiting.

Once Gúthwyn had looked in the mirror and pronounced her appearance as satisfactory, or as satisfactory as it could be under the circumstances, she hurried out of her chambers and into the corridor. All the while, she fought to keep her mind from sinking into despair. Borogor would not have wished her to live her life in happiness, not in misery; it was up to her to decide her fate, and she would choose contentment. She had to, for her own sake.

She had almost reached the end of the hall when a tall figure strode into the passage, momentarily blocking her way. When they both realized who the other was, Gúthwyn jumped; Legolas immediately stepped aside. "How are you?" he asked concernedly, his brow knitting in worry.

"I-I am better now," Gúthwyn replied, blushing as she thought of how she must have looked to him the night before. Even though her vision had been blurred with tears, the shocked expression on his face had still been clear. "Thank you for the flowers," she added, turning an even darker red. "They are beautiful."

"You are most welcome," Legolas responded sincerely, his gaze holding hers. "I know they cannot possibly console you, but I hoped you would at least find them pleasing to the eye."

"I did," Gúthwyn assured him, flustered and taken aback—as always—by his kindness. "Er… did Faramir, ah, tell you about…?"

"Éowyn was most persistent in her inquiries when he returned alone," Legolas admitted. "Faramir did not divulge much, but he mentioned that he had taken you to a clearing with a burial mound."

Gúthwyn swallowed, now afraid of what else Legolas had heard. "Did he… did he say anything further?"

"No," Legolas told her, "save that… you knew the person in the grave."

Éomund's daughter stared down at her feet. "Yes," she confirmed reluctantly. "I did. It was a friend of mine."

The lie hurt, even as it fell from her lips, but it was a necessary one. Even if Legolas did not believe her, he would never question her. "I-I have to go," she announced. "I promised Éowyn I would meet her in the hall… but thank you, for both your concern and the flowers."

"You do not have to thank me," Legolas answered quietly. "I am ever at your service."

Gúthwyn stammered out an awkward reply and took her leave of him, far more flustered by his comment than she felt she should have been. Unfortunately, Legolas had the ability to unsettle her with a mere glance, let alone a friendly remark.

_Someday_, she told herself, _this will not be so._

And someday, she would be at peace with her decision to leave Borogor behind in the remnants of her past.


	40. Borogor's Story

**Chapter Forty**

That morning, Gúthwyn spoke more openly with Éowyn than she had in years. Their ride in the forest, away from Faramir's presence and out from under the burden of the secrets that had long festered between them, allowed Éomund's youngest daughter to converse properly with her sister for what felt like the first time since the White Lady's marriage almost a decade ago.

She told Éowyn everything about Borogor: how he had tried to warn her about Haldor; how he had protected her and the children from the other soldiers in the camp, even though it had made several powerful warriors his enemies; how devoted and caring he had been to his brother; how respected a commander he had been amongst the slaves, and how he knew them all by name; how kind, handsome, warm, and generous he had been; how he alone had understood her fears, and how he alone had been able to comfort her; how he had changed during her last few days with him; how something had developed between them that she had not realized until it was too late.

Éowyn listened closely, probing little, and for that Gúthwyn was grateful. Her tears from the night before had only been the first of an outpouring of all the emotions that had been bottled up inside of her—now she found that she wanted to talk about Borogor, to tell her sister about the kind of person he had been. She was not wholly cured: it hurt more often than not to discuss him; but at the same time it was cathartic.

"He sounds like a wonderful man," Éowyn said softly when at last Gúthwyn was quiet. "I wish I could have met him."

"So do I," Gúthwyn replied mournfully, looking bleakly at the waterfall she and Éowyn were eating lunch beside. The cascading water was beautiful to behold, as was the foliage surrounding it, but now it offered her little solace. "He would have been good for Hammel and Haiweth. They both admired him. Sometimes I wonder if Hammel would not have benefited from more guidance, for he refuses to let me become close to him. He and his sister have never had someone to look up to as a father, or at least not that they can remember."

"Are you going to tell them about the grave?" Éowyn inquired, looking closely at Gúthwyn.

Éomund's youngest daughter shrugged uneasily. "I know I should," she confessed, "but what good can come out of it? They were attached to him, yes, but he has been gone for most of their lives and to bring the matter up again seems needless."

"Perhaps you should reconsider," Éowyn suggested gently. "After all he has done for them, they would want to pay tribute to him."

"Maybe," Gúthwyn replied uneasily. Deep down, she was fully aware that her sister had advised the right course of action—but that still did not make it easier to follow through.

"What about Cobryn?" Éowyn inquired, biting into an apple as she tactfully changed the subject. "Does he know of Borogor?"

Gúthwyn was, in truth, not entirely certain. "I never told him his name," she answered, "but that hardly means anything. Hammel could easily have said something, or he may very well have figured it out himself."

"How have you kept this a secret for all these years?" Éowyn asked, astonished. "Not even confiding in Cobryn?"

"I could not endure it," Gúthwyn said seriously. "I needed… I needed to keep his memory to myself."

"But does it not feel better, now that you have broken your silence?" Éowyn questioned gently.

Gúthwyn nodded wholeheartedly. "It is as if a monstrous weight has been lifted off my shoulders," she confessed, sighing. "The more I talk about him, the more…"

"The more what?" Éowyn prompted her when she faltered.

Éomund's youngest daughter hesitated, as though she were on the brink of committing treason. "The more it seems easier to… to move on."

As if guessing her thoughts, Éowyn said kindly, "He would want you to find happiness in life. Ten years is too long to be grieving for anyone, no matter how wonderful they were. You deserve better than that."

"Yet no sooner do I tell myself this than the guilt becomes overwhelming," Gúthwyn whispered, trembling. "What if I forget him?"

"You will not," Éowyn assured her. "But you should not dwell so much on the past. Borogor loved you; he would understand this, even encourage it."

Gúthwyn did not respond. She stared at the ground, trying to convince herself that this was the best course of action. As much as she attempted to reason that Éowyn was right, part of her did not want to let go and sign off on a betrayal of such horrific proportions. "I wish he were still alive," she finally murmured. "I miss him so much…"

"I would have loved for you to be married," Éowyn said wistfully. "I know we do not see eye to eye on this, baby sister, but I really do believe that you would be better off with a husband who can help you through the nights."

"What do you mean?" Gúthwyn asked, confused.

"Cobryn tells me that your sleep is still plagued by dreams of Mordor," Éowyn responded concernedly. "Whom do you have now to comfort you after a nightmare, if you seek neither him nor Éomer out?"

"Legolas," Gúthwyn answered automatically, without thinking.

Only when Éowyn's eyebrows shot upwards did she realize how strange her reply had been. "I-I mean," she clarified, blushing a little, "I do not 'seek him out,' but whenever I left the Golden Hall to clear my head he was always there, gazing at the stars. He was kind enough to humor me when I spoke to him."

"He does have a fondness for watching the stars," Éowyn conceded, still looking perplexed, "but how often were you outside with him?"

"When he visited," Gúthwyn said, "usually two or three times a week. I am surprised he managed to put up with me for all the years this has happened."

Éowyn's features were a study in astonishment. "This has been going on for _years_? Éomer only mentioned one occasion!"

"He wrote to you about that?" Gúthwyn asked, mortified. Not long ago, Elfwine had had a nightmare and begged Éomer to bring him to his aunt. When the king of Rohan had complied, it was to discover that his sister was not in her bedroom. A brief search had brought father and son onto the landing of Meduseld, where Gúthwyn and Legolas were standing together.

Éomund's youngest daughter remembered well her brother's suspicions, how she had recoiled from them. Never would she have imagined, however, that he would write to Éowyn about the matter. She thought she had told him—but this meant—did he actually believe that she had a romantic interest in Legolas?

"He is only looking out for you, Gúthwyn," Éowyn said diplomatically. "And I must admit: if I had seen the same, I would have been curious as well."

"There is _nothing_ between Legolas and I," Gúthwyn vowed, so ferociously that no room was left for argument. "Will you pass the bread?"

Éowyn sighed, opened her mouth to speak, then closed it and dutifully handed over the basket.

* * *

><p>When Gúthwyn and Éowyn returned from their ride, the two sisters parted for the time being. The White Lady went in search of her husband, while Éomund's youngest daughter hovered uncertainly in the stables for several minutes before at length deciding to walk through the gardens. She had not yet done this, and she was eager to see the fruits of Éowyn's labor. Additionally, she had to find something to take her mind off of Borogor—reliving her memories of him was exhausting, and she could not long bear it.<p>

First, however, she returned to the house and set aside the pack she still carried on her back. She would need nothing for her stroll, and she did not wish to be encumbered by the provisions she had brought with her on the ride. In her absence, the maids had come and tidied up her bedroom. Gúthwyn was relieved to see that they had left Legolas's flowers untouched; the sweet smell now permeated throughout her chambers.

After taking a deep, refreshing breath, she exited her quarters and began walking down the hall. Perhaps for Elfwine's amusement, and to elude her memories, she would compose a story about imaginary creatures living in Éowyn's garden. If she could persuade Haiweth to help her, she could add illustrations to the tale. There would have to be horses involved somewhere, of course…

Her mind was so occupied with thoughts of what would amuse her beloved nephew that she almost did not see the open door to Legolas's room. When at last she did she slowed down, curious in spite of herself. Her walk reduced to a snail's pace, she glanced inside to see whether or not he was there.

The first thing she noticed was the bow he had been given in Lothlórien by Lady Galadriel, propped carefully against his desk chair. Evidently, he had recently returned from archery practice. Gúthwyn's gaze traveled beyond the weapon to the tall figure standing just behind the chair.

Legolas's back was to her, but still she turned crimson when she saw that he had discarded his shirt and was washing himself. Water sluiced over his shoulders and cascaded down his bare back, the muscles of which she could see rippling beneath his skin as he twisted to get the right angle beneath the pitcher. She stood, rooted to the spot, imagining if he turned around and it was Haldor, not Legolas—but it was Legolas, she knew this, she would not lose herself in her fears. For the first time, she could not connect the Elf before her to the Elf who had tortured her years ago. This was new to her, something utterly unfamiliar.

The thought crossed her mind that she could not linger, and she acted on it; or tried to, anyway. She had only taken a step before Legolas tensed, obviously sensing that he was not alone, and turned around. When he saw her there, he inclined his head in greeting. "Good afternoon," he said, making no comment about the fact that he had just caught her staring at him.

Gúthwyn was mortified. "S-S-Sorry," she stuttered, blushing furiously at the sight of his naked chest. "I-I was just walking by o-on my way t-to Éowyn's gardens…"

Legolas's expression cleared immediately. "Of course," he said, quickly reaching for a nearby towel. "Forgive me for not approaching you earlier—I was unsure if you still wanted to see them today."

His words momentarily puzzled Éomund's daughter, until she remembered that he had promised to accompany her on this tour the evening before. The scarlet faded from her cheeks: she did, in fact, have a reason to be outside Legolas's room.

"Please, sit down," Legolas said then, gesturing to a chair beside the door as he dried himself off with the towel. "I will only be a minute."

Gúthwyn hesitated, hovering on the edge of the unthinkable. Like a small animal entering the dark lair of a beast of prey, sensing danger but unable to find a concrete reason to turn aside, she tentatively took a step into the Elf's chambers. She did not sit down, however. This mistake had cost her both her virginity and her dignity twelve years ago; now she knew better, and did not venture further from the threshold.

"How was your ride?" Legolas asked her as he finished with the towel, folding it neatly and letting it drape over the side of his desk chair. He had noted her silent refusal to sit down, of that Gúthwyn was certain; yet he said nothing of her reticence.

"I-It was good," Gúthwyn replied, nervously twisting her hands together as she thought of what Borogor would say if he saw her now. "We picnicked beside a waterfall somewhere in the woods—it was beautiful."

"It is," Legolas agreed, walking over to his wardrobe. Gúthwyn realized that she was staring at him again and hastily averted her eyes, embarrassed. "Did you swim there, also? The water is refreshing after a long ride."

"No, not today," Gúthwyn responded, trying to ignore how hot it suddenly felt in the room. Why were her palms so clammy? "It sounds wonderful, though. I am planning on bringing the children there as soon as possible—I know they will enjoy it. Or, at least, I hope they do," she amended. Sometimes it felt as if she had no idea what Hammel and Haiweth wanted anymore.

Legolas reached into his drawers, presumably searching for a clean tunic. It was all Gúthwyn could do not to gape at his semi-naked form. Her inexperience with men was doing this to her, it had to be. When was the last time she had seen someone of the opposite gender shirtless? Once or twice, Cobryn had cast aside his tunic while swimming with her—but he was practically a brother to her, and hardly counted.

_Haldor_, she reminded herself. Yet the name did nothing, and her eyes were still fixed on the slender Elf in front of her.

"Legolas!" an outraged voice suddenly exclaimed in her ear.

Gúthwyn shrieked in terror and jumped about a foot in the air, nearly tripping over her own feet in her haste to get away from the speaker. Both she and Legolas whirled around to see Raniean, his gaze poisonous with hatred… and all of it directed at Éomund's daughter.

Raniean let loose with a sudden stream of rapid, angry Elvish, frequently pointing at Gúthwyn. She was clueless as to what he was saying, but it did not take a wizard to guess that none of it was kind. Legolas responded equally vehemently, his features contorting in a frown as he argued back.

Raniean's retort was as scathing as the one before it. He ranted furiously at Legolas; then he looked at Gúthwyn, made a hand gesture that could only be described as exceptionally rude, and hissed: "_Orvelethril!_"

In the dead silence that followed, Gúthwyn became aware that Raniean had said something particularly horrible. Legolas's face slowly, steadily darkened until she was afraid to glance at it. Without warning, he strode over to Raniean and grabbed his friend tightly by the arm. He yanked the proud Elf towards him, not stopping until their eyes were inches apart.

Éomund's daughter found herself wishing that she could speak Elvish as Legolas snarled something at Raniean. Raniean held his ground, his blackening expression the only sign that he had heard Legolas's words. He did not remain long in the room: as soon as the prince released him he was gone, with one last contemptuous look at Gúthwyn.

"W-What does _orvelethril_ mean?" Gúthwyn asked tentatively in the wake of Raniean's departure, stumbling over the Elvish term.

"It is a foul insult," Legolas answered, practically shaking in fury; "there are few worse. I will not trouble your ears with it."

"I want to know what he called me," Gúthwyn insisted, intensely curious as to what had made Legolas so upset with his friend.

"Gúthwyn—"

"Please," she said softly, determinedly meeting his gaze.

Legolas hesitated, then sighed. "In the Sindarin tongue, _orvelethril_ means 'Orc-lover.'"

Éomund's daughter stiffened. "_Orc-lover_?" she repeated, stunned as the pieces flew together in her mind. Legolas must have told Raniean about the rumors circulating around Edoras concerning her purity—the Elf had somehow found out that she had been a slave of Sauron—he had connected the dots—he believed her purpose as a thrall had been…

"Gúthwyn?" Legolas asked in alarm as she paled, clutching her stomach.

The very idea of what Raniean had just insinuated made her want to vomit. "H-He thinks I… he thinks I-I have _lain with Orcs_?"

"No!" Legolas exclaimed immediately, looking appalled. "That is not what he meant, I swear it," he vowed, placing a reassuring hand on her trembling arm.

Suddenly, the only thing in all of Middle-earth that Gúthwyn was conscious of was Legolas: how close she was to him, her face only a foot away from his own; his fingertips, each little fires that were burning her skin; the fact that he was still shirtless. In that moment, his presence was overwhelming. She even forgot how to breathe. _Haldor—no, Legolas—not Haldor…_

Legolas realized that the atmosphere had changed and immediately withdrew his hand, apologizing. "Forgive me—I should not have—"

"It is fine," Gúthwyn said quickly, nervously. She gave him a tentative smile, one that soon died as Raniean's accusation resurfaced in her memory. "W-What is an Orc-lover, then? What does it mean?"

"The Elves' hatred of Orcs is far more potent than the enmity between Men and Sauron's creatures," Legolas replied quietly, moving away from her and picking up the tunic that had fallen to the floor in the midst of Raniean's interruption. "It is difficult to explain to a mortal…"

"Try me," Gúthwyn responded, bristling at the subtle patronization.

Legolas took more time than he should have to pull the tunic over his shoulders. When at last he was fully clothed (much to Gúthwyn's relief), he began reluctantly, "Do you know how Orcs came into existence?"

Gúthwyn mutely shook her head. To her, Orcs were as permanent a species of Middle-earth as Elves, Men, Dwarves, and Hobbits; she had never tried to guess at their origins.

"Orcs were once Elves," Legolas told her, "captured by Morgoth and tortured beyond recognition. Their bodies were destroyed, mutilated; what happened to their minds was worse."

Éomund's daughter had a sudden vision of Elves cowering in dark dungeons, of their slender forms convulsing in agony. She heard ghastly screams, unearthly groans; she saw blood running in rivulets until the trails turned black. The image made her shiver. In her younger days she had learned about Morgoth, the Dark Lord in ages long past whose evil was so potent that even Sauron appeared kind beside him—yet she had never been taught this particular lesson. "I-I had no idea," she whispered, stunned.

Legolas's expression hardened as he continued. "The unspeakable horrors our enslaved people endured before they became Orcs is the reason Elves alone, of all the creatures inhabiting Middle-earth, have never fought for either of the Dark Lords. It is why so many Elves distrust Men, who have proven susceptible to the whispers of the Enemy. To accuse someone of being an Orc-lover, a supporter of Orcs, is the worst insult an Elf can utter—even Raniean does not use it lightly."

"He must hate me, then," Gúthwyn surmised glumly.

"He does not hate you," Legolas replied, though without much conviction in his voice. "It simply angers him that I value the friendship of Men. When he saw you in my chambers today, he formed the wrong impression."

"He can get in line behind all the others," Gúthwyn muttered angrily.

Legolas's eyebrows raised significantly. "I beg your pardon?" he questioned, confused.

"Every time I so much as talk to a man who is not my relative, someone spreads a rumor that I am having an affair with him," Gúthwyn burst out irritably. "I am sick of it! Even Éomer and Éowyn seize any excuse they can to interrogate me about whether my heart has turned to any male they think I converse with too often, and they of all people should know better! Since when has my love life been anyone's business but my own?"

"Unfortunately, it seems that the fact that you are do not have a husband makes others believe it _is_ their business," Legolas pointed out gently. "I hardly consider myself an expert on mortal customs, especially those pertaining to marriage, but I have noticed that humans enjoy speculating about the prospects of yet unwedded women."  
>Gúthwyn nodded emphatically. "So many people have asked me if I ever plan on marrying—and yet, why is it so important to them that I do? Why do I have to find a husband? Is it not possible for a woman to be single for the rest of her life? I have family and friends; why do I need a man to devote myself to?"<p>

"You would give up on love so easily?" Legolas inquired, a strange expression on his face. "Are you so convinced that you will never find someone who can make you happy?"

Gúthwyn bit her lip, remembering her recent conversations with Éowyn and her own realization that it was time to set Borogor's memory aside. "Well…"

"A woman has every right to be single for the rest of her life, if she wills it," Legolas responded. "Yet that is a long time for her to be alone."

"Who says I would be alone?" Gúthwyn started to retort, but then she stopped. The truth of the matter was, suddenly a lot of what Éomer and Éowyn had been saying to her all along now made sense. She would always have her siblings, her children, her friends, and Elfwine; nothing would ever take them away from her. Yet at the end of her days, did she really want to look back on a life in which she had only once been kissed by a man who loved her?

For she could not lie to herself: she wanted what she could have had with Borogor. She wanted someone to hold her, to comfort her after her nightmares, to be a father for the children. The price she had to pay for this, however, was daunting—a husband had the right to take her to bed whenever he desired. Having escaped from those shackles once, she could not endure them a second time… yet could she resign herself to so many decades without love?

"Gúthwyn?"

Éomund's daughter gave a guilty start. "S-Sorry," she apologized when she saw that Legolas was watching her closely, waiting for a response. "I…" She did not know what to say; her feelings were too confused for her to provide an adequate answer, nor could she ever tell Legolas what he needed to hear in order to understand the emotional turmoil he had inadvertently brought upon her.

A change of subject was essential. "Shall we be getting on to the gardens?" she asked quickly, gesturing towards the open door and her escape route.

Fortunately for her, Legolas was too polite to force the issue. "Of course," he agreed, and offered her his arm.

After a moment's hesitation, Gúthwyn took it.


	41. A Stroll in the Gardens

**Chapter Forty-One**

"_Legolas!"_

_Thranduil's son heard the voice, recognized it with a sinking sensation; yet before he could do anything, Gúthwyn's scream cut through the air. Legolas whirled around—had Raniean hurt her?—but no, the Elf's sudden appearance had merely frightened her. Now she recovered, only to tremble slightly under the cold fury in Raniean's stare._

"_I knew it," Raniean spat in Sindarin, turning his glare onto Legolas. "First you befriend a Man, then a Dwarf, forgetting what those vile creatures have done to us—now you court this dimwitted woman?" He violently jabbed a finger in Gúthwyn's direction. "I see the way you look at her, you fool! Have you lost your mind, consorting with these pigs? She is no prize among them, either, what with her utter lack of a useful education and that disgusting skeleton some call her body. What would your father say, if he learned how frequently you sought out her inferior company?"_

_The sight of Gúthwyn standing there with wide, innocent eyes, unaware of the foul slander that had just been heaped upon her, invoked a rage all the greater within Legolas. "I know you have your reasons for hating humans," Thranduil's son hissed at Raniean, "but that is no excuse for the insults and lies now spewing from your mouth! That 'dimwitted woman' is a friend of mine, and I will not tolerate you abusing her the way you just did! If I were in love with her, which I am not—your accusations are entirely unfounded—I would expect you, as another friend of mine, to be happy for me. Yet you, Raniean, cannot put aside the loathing which has blinded you your entire life, and you refuse to so much as treat her civilly!"_

_Raniean's expression turned downright livid. "You think _I_ am blind?" he demanded. "I see perfectly well the sort of future you will have if you take this—this _mortal_, this_ vermin_ as your wife. You will spend your marriage taking care of that sickly animal, assuming one of her illnesses does not finish her off. Your children will be half-breeds, your lineage tainted by her despicable blood. Then she will die, and while you still live her corpse will be devoured by worms and maggots. An ending befitting of an Orc-lover!" He turned to Gúthwyn as he finished, executing an obscene hand gesture._

_Every last nerve in Legolas's body snapped. His patience vanished, replaced at once by a hatred more potent than anything he had known before. The burning desire to cause his friend pain engulfed him, until he could barely see straight because of it. Storming over to Raniean, he grabbed the Elf by his arm and squeezed until he felt bone beneath his fingers._

"_One more word," Thranduil's son snarled, "and I will no longer have control over my actions. Your prejudice sickens me! The way you treat the woman who so graciously hosted you in her home for so many years is appalling. I am warning you, Raniean, cease your shameless diatribe! Now, get out of my sight before I do something I regret." He released the other Elf from his grip, taking a savage pleasure in the bruise he saw forming._

_Had Legolas been any less angrier, Raniean's cold stare would have frozen him where he stood. Without another word, Raniean turned around and swept away; and Thranduil's son watched the departure of his best friend with an equally heated glare._

* * *

><p>"Legolas?"<p>

Gúthwyn's tentative voice drew him out of his thoughts, which still lay in the room they had vacated over half an hour ago. "Sorry," he apologized, looking back down at her. As always, she flushed when their eyes met. "I was distracted. Forgive me."

"I-If my inquiry is not too bold, what were you thinking about?" Gúthwyn asked timidly.

Not to be the one who brought up the subject of Raniean again, Legolas replied, "I was just remembering that I have to write a letter to my father soon. He reprimands me if I am too late in bringing him news about the colony."

"I am sure he misses you," Gúthwyn pointed out, ducking her head as they passed under a set of low-lying branches. The trees around them provided welcome relief from the sun, which was streaming brightly into Éowyn's garden. "It has not even been two weeks since I left Éomer and Elfwine, and already I yearn to see them again."

Legolas looked at her, noting her subdued tone of voice and the slump to her shoulders. Her unhappiness grieved him, and he found himself desiring to return the radiant smile to her face. "You will not be parted long from them, I am sure," he said kindly. "Linger in Emyn Arnen for more than a year, and I daresay Elfwine will find a way to march over and drag you back."

Laughter was his reward, and a fine reward it was. "He is quite persistent," Gúthwyn agreed fondly, adoration gleaming in her eyes. "Obviously, it is a trait he has inherited from his father."

"Éomer is a lucky man," Legolas remarked, recalling Elfwine's outgoing and humorous mannerisms. If the Valar were to bless him with a son of similar temperament, Legolas knew he would find the task of fatherhood wearisome and yet ultimately joyful.

"That he is," Gúthwyn replied wistfully. "I cannot pretend there are not times when I wish Elfwine were my own child."

The discussion they had just had in his chambers floated back to the surface of Legolas's mind, though in fact it had never been far from his consciousness since. For as long as he had known her, Gúthwyn had resisted the idea of marriage—she had even rejected the proposal of her champion, Tun, in spite of her visible affection for him. Yet it seemed that, for all her opposition to wedding another, she wanted nothing more than to have children of her own.

Thranduil's son did not understand: why would she shy from the means to achieve her goal of motherhood? Why would she want a son or daughter, but not the spouse to produce them? Why would she who thrived on the love of her family and friends refuse to accept the love of a husband? It was entirely irrational—yet surely there had to be a reason.

"There is still time for you to have children," he pointed out to Gúthwyn, examining her closely to see her reaction.

Something changed in Gúthwyn's expression. "For that, I would need a husband," she responded.

And there it was—the small shiver that wracked her body, the glimmer of fear in her eyes. Suddenly, Legolas knew.

"How long have you been afraid of marriage?" he asked quietly.

They had been walking at an easy pace through the garden, but now Éomund's daughter altogether stopped. "W-What do you mean?" she demanded, her voice high-pitched.

"How long," Legolas repeated patiently as he came to a halt and faced her, "have you been afraid of marriage?"

Gúthwyn eyed him warily, now noticeably guarded. "Why do you ask that? What makes you think I am afraid?"

"The way you react whenever someone talks to you about finding a husband," Legolas responded, holding her gaze. "I see you tremble, look away to collect yourself before replying. You want children—and yet all these years, you have never married."

She was now staring intently at a bush with pale blue flowers, though it was evident that the sight had not registered in her mind. "Th-The reason I did not accept any of the proposals from my brother's warriors was simply that I saw them as friends, not lovers," she said slowly. "This was also true of Elphir, though by then Éomer had worn me down into choosing someone. Even after Elphir terminated the negotiations, I might have wedded another… but then Amrothos—" She choked up, unable to finish the sentence. Legolas felt the urge to reach out to her, yet something stopped him. "I realized…" Gúthwyn cleared her throat. "Let us just say that I rather lost interest in men, when I learned what they were capable of."

Legolas's mouth opened slightly. "Gúthwyn," he began, though he was at a loss as to what to tell her.

"What?" she asked defiantly, her small figure shivering in the nonexistent breeze.

"Not all men are like that," he finally managed, his response horribly inadequate; he was still trying to come to terms with the fact that she remained far more affected by Amrothos's assault than he had initially thought. After the first few months following the Dol Amroth visit, she had seemed to recover—her family and friends helping most of all to heal the hurt. Now, however, he realized that he had been foolish to think that she could so easily bounce back. Her smiles and laughter had deceived him.

"'Not all men are like that'?" Gúthwyn echoed, grimacing. "That is hardly the point, is it? For once I marry, it is my… my _wifely duty_ to…" She grew increasingly agitated, to the extent that she began to look as if she wished she were anywhere but at his side. "Forget it," she said abruptly.

"You speak of wifely duties," Legolas responded quietly, not willing to let the matter rest, "but it is a husband's duty to cherish his wife and never inflict suffering upon her. No honorable man would ever force the woman he loves to do something against her will—and if he does, he does not love her. Whomsoever you decide to marry will venerate you, for I know you will choose well."

"Choose?" Gúthwyn echoed, and he was surprised to see the bitterness with which her features were contorted. "_Choice_? I am _expected_ to find a husband and _expected_ to obey him. I see little _choice_ in the matter."

"Who has given you such ideas?" Legolas demanded, aghast. He could scarcely comprehend what she was saying: a union between two Elves was only embarked upon with the consent of both parties, and the institution was greatly revered. Never before had he heard someone speak so disparagingly about marriage, for there was simply no reason to despise it. "You talk of slavery, not love! To wed another is not to submit to their dominion—look at your sister! At times she seems the happiest woman alive. Do you ever witness her meekly accepting Faramir's orders? Does she ever appear to resent the fact that she is his wife? Has he ever treated her wrongly?"

"N-No," Gúthwyn answered after a pause, cringing.

"Then why," Legolas pressed, "when you have Éowyn's marriage as such an example, do you think so little of becoming a wife?"

"Sometimes I wish I could wed another," Gúthwyn retorted defensively, "yet then I remember that I would be facing a lifetime of obedience—for that is what it is, though you do not recognize it because _you_ would not be the constrained party—and I cannot bring myself to put on those shackles."

"I can hardly understand you," Legolas said in astonishment: "do you even know what marriage is?"

Gúthwyn's eyes flashed. "Of course I do," she replied indignantly, her fingers curling into fists.

"No, you do not," Legolas corrected her, shaking his head. In that moment he pitied her, though she would hate him if she found out. "You marry someone because you love them, because you want to spend the rest of your life with them. You want to wake up next to them every morning and take comfort in the fact that they will never leave you, because no matter where they go during the day they will always lay their head beside yours at night. You want to have children with them, to raise a family together. You marry someone because you would die for them without a second thought, because you would endure all the pain in the world if only it meant that they would feel none of it. That, Gúthwyn, is what marriage is—and that is the person you should take as your husband."

As he finished, his chest was rising and falling with unusual rapidity; he had not realized how vehemently he was speaking. The fervor of his words seemed to have made their mark on Gúthwyn, also: she was staring at him as if she had never seen him before today, and to his astonishment her eyes were filling with tears.

"I-I am sorry," Legolas murmured, embarrassed. "I should not have—"

Gúthwyn turned away, her shoulders shaking as she wept. Utterly at a loss as to explain her behavior, Legolas gazed at her quivering back for a moment before hesitantly approaching her. "Gúthwyn?" he asked, confused.

Yet she continued to cry, her wretched sobs echoing throughout the garden.

"What is wrong?" Legolas inquired softly, tentatively placing a hand on her shoulder.

For once, she did not pull away. She even leaned toward him for a second before seeming to remember whom he was; after she righted herself immediately, but still did not move to dislodge his palm.

"Gúthwyn, please, tell me how I have upset you," he pleaded.

When Éomund's daughter finally spoke, it was in halting, miserable tones. "It is not you," she choked out, "but…"

"But what?" Legolas prompted when she trailed off.

Gúthwyn dissolved into tears again. "Th-That is the h-h-husband I have a-always wanted," she confessed, frantically wiping at her eyes. "Yet I cannot—"

"Cannot, or will not?" Legolas asked quietly.

There was a long pause. Gúthwyn's sobs eased, until at length she was silent. "I appreciate your concern," she finally murmured, drawing away from him. Her gaze was lowered, guarded. "Please, can we—"

"Wait," Legolas began, desperate to understand what had brought her to tears. "What was—"

"Legolas, please," Gúthwyn begged, quaking under his inquisition. "Forget I ever said anything. I did not mean to… Please, can we just continue our walk?"

As much as he wanted to, Legolas could not bring himself to press her further when she was so distressed. "Of course," he agreed, and offered his arm once more.

Gúthwyn tentatively took it, placing the barest amount of weight on him. "Thank you," she whispered.

When they finally started strolling again, there was an uncomfortable silence between them that seemed to expand as the seconds lengthened. Gúthwyn was determinedly looking anywhere but at him, and Legolas similarly did not want to frighten her with close scrutiny. He did not need to survey her, however: his mind was more than preoccupied with thoughts of how strange their interactions this morning had been.

First there had been that moment while he was washing himself when he had glanced over his shoulder and seen her. She had been in the process of walking past his chambers, but the embarrassed expression on her face when he had called out to her suggested that she had been observing him. Legolas had forgotten that the door was open while he was bathing, even though he had never planned on fully undressing—he hoped he had not completely shocked her.

For it had not escaped his notice that she was affected by the sight of his naked form, perhaps moreso than she should have been. Had she gazed upon him in revulsion, or something else? Was the fact that he was even contemplating 'something else' a sign to him that his feelings for her, based on friendship though they always had been, had changed?

He thought of Raniean's hateful words: _"I see the way you look at her, you fool!"_ In the heat of the moment, Legolas had denied his attraction to her—but he now had a sudden suspicion that he had done this only to oppose his friend, to have a legitimate stance against him, rather than because the accusation was wholly false.

_You have noticed her appearance in a more wondrous light for the past couple of years_, he reminded himself. He could not pinpoint the exact day on which he had realized how beautiful her smile was, how her long, dark hair shone in the sun; but he had never acknowledged these to be more than kind reflections on his part. And the truth was, something about her personality had always drawn her to him, even when she had spurned him; but again, he had never considered that there might be a hidden reason for this.

Did he love Gúthwyn? He asked himself this, and could not find a response within himself. If the answer was no, how could he explain those times—forgotten until now, remembered in light of his musings—when his stomach had tightened in her presence, when a smile from her had improved his mood? If the answer was yes… But it could not be. Love between the First-born and the Second-born had only occurred a handful of times throughout all of history; rarer still did such unions end happily.

He looked at Éomund's youngest daughter, as if the sight of her would help him in his query. She was studying a nearby bed of flowers with interest, yet the troubled expression still had not faded from her eyes and she appeared to be gazing at the petals in hopes of finding comfort within them. Why was she so opposed to marriage? She had wavered, eventually, in the face of his persistent questions—had her doubt been because she did not wish to enter into an argument with him, or was she truly unsure of herself?

_Marriage_, he thought abruptly, stunned. Was this the direction in which his mind had run? He felt mortified, and resolved to set aside the idea once and for all.

Yet when Gúthwyn glanced at him and offered a tentative smile, he found himself returning the gesture. In an effort to steer the conversation back to safer ground, he cleared his throat and asked, "What sort of toy should I make Elfwine for when we next meet?"

During one of their walks around Ithilien, he had promised Gúthwyn that he would carve a new figurine for her nephew—despite her many protestations. Now she blushed. "You are very kind to him," she said, trying to hide her pleasure. "I am certain that anything you give him will be happily received."

"Perhaps a warrior for his horse?" Legolas suggested, but almost immediately he decided that a soldier was not sufficient. Elfwine had plenty of them; an entire army, judging by the size of the toy box that was kept in Meduseld.

Gúthwyn hesitated. "An Elven warrior?" Her shy gaze met his. "I think Elfwine would delight in having his own Leggy, Tree-on, or Fye-on to order around."

Legolas chuckled, amused as always by the little prince's nicknames for his Elven companions. King Éomer was still in the process of rebuilding Rohan's economy, which had been heavily impacted in the years prior to and during the War of the Ring; but when his affairs at home stabilized and he was able to visit his sister in Ithilien, Legolas fully intended on inviting the royal family to his colony. His designs were largely on Elfwine's account, for it brought a smile to his face as he imagined what the boy's reaction to an entirely Elvish settlement would be. "I think that is a wonderful idea," he replied, grinning at Gúthwyn. "Which of them should I carve—Tree-on or Fye-on?"

Gúthwyn thought for a minute. "Well… _you_ are his favorite," she pointed out. "He always asks about you."

"He does?" Legolas inquired, surprised. As much as Elfwine seemed to enjoy Legolas's company during his visits, he had not expected that the child would consider him in his absence.

Gúthwyn nodded. "He often wants to know when 'Leggy' will come to Rohan next. Whenever he finds out that you will be arriving soon, not ten minutes can go by without him clamoring to see you and the other 'Effs.'"

"I was not aware that I had made such an impression on him," Legolas remarked, bemused.

With a small smile, Gúthwyn replied, "He thinks very highly of you. As I have said before, he was named well."

She did not, Legolas observed, appear to resent him for Elfwine's preference. "Why did Éomer give him that name?" he inquired. As he spoke, he saw a beautiful flower that had fallen from its stem and was now lying on the half-wall of stone that indicated one of the garden's boundaries; unnoticed by Gúthwyn, Legolas picked up the blossom and held it behind his back. It came to his mind that he would present Éomund's daughter with his find at the opportune moment, in hopes of more effectively driving the shadows from her thoughts.

"It was not Éomer," Gúthwyn answered, shaking her head. "Lothíriel came up with it, and my brother translated it into Rohirric. She chose it because it is said that the people of Dol Amroth have Elvish blood in their veins, something which they take great pride in."

The light in her eyes dimmed as she spoke of Lothíriel, reminding Legolas of all that the queen of Rohan had done to her. He had long ago become aware of the animosity that Lothíriel harbored towards Gúthwyn, but he would never have expected such atrocious acts to arise from her hatred. Whenever he thought of the despicable schemes Éomer's wife had executed, his blood boiled. Gúthwyn was the one person least deserving of such treatment. After everything she had already suffered, all the physical and emotional ailments she had endured, it was galling to learn that she had faced yet more troubles in her own home.

"Does Elfwine know what his mother did to you?" Legolas could not help but ask.

"He put two and two together and figured out that she had induced me to leave," Gúthwyn responded sadly. "I fear for his relationship with her. He needs a mother in his life."

"He has you," Legolas pointed out.

"I am not his mother," Gúthwyn said, a wistful tone in her voice that she could not quite suppress. "Lothíriel is. No one agrees with me, I know. You probably do not. Yet regardless of what she has done to me, I must put Elfwine's concerns before my own."

"I think it is admirable that you are so attentive to your nephew," Legolas said quietly. "I hope that Lothíriel someday appreciates how gracious and generous you have been with her."

"As long as she figures out how to be a good mother for him, her appreciation does not matter to me," Gúthwyn declared grimly.

By now, they had completed their circuit around the gardens and were coming to the path that would lead them back to Faramir and Éowyn's dwelling. "I-I should go," Gúthwyn announced, shy once more around him. "Th-Thank you for walking with me. I am sorry if I have inconvenienced you in any way."

"Never," Legolas vowed. Withdrawing the flower he had discovered earlier from behind his back, he said, "For you."

Although at first surprised, Gúthwyn's expression soon turned into a blush. "Thank you," she answered, accepting it from him with a hint of delight in her eyes. As he watched, she hesitated and then tucked it behind her ear, so that it was as an ornament in her dark tresses. The arrangement was very becoming on her. "Will I—will we see you at dinner?" she inquired, securing the flower in her hair.

"Of course," he promised, inclining his head.

"Until then," Gúthwyn replied. "Good afternoon, Legolas."

With another smile in his direction, she was gone, her steps light as she left the garden. Legolas's gaze followed her until she was out of sight; he could not repress the tiny grin that was tugging at the corners of his mouth, though he did not want to contemplate why he might be so content.

He did not notice the presence of another Elf, so adeptly had Raniean hidden himself in the trees surrounding the garden.


	42. Cobryn's Advice

**Chapter Forty-Two**

When Gúthwyn stepped into Éowyn and Faramir's home, the first person she ran into was Cobryn. He raised an eyebrow when he saw her. "I never knew you were one for wearing flowers in your hair," he remarked.

"Legolas gave it to me," Gúthwyn explained, smiling as she spoke. Legolas's efforts to cheer her up had been touching; she had noticed that he often changed the topic to something she would feel comfortable discussing, especially whenever the current subject was causing her distress. No doubt his consideration was due in part to Raniean's behavior—he likely felt as if he had to make amends somehow.

"Legolas gave it to you," Cobryn repeated, leaning against the wall and surveying her.

Gúthwyn nodded. "We were walking through Éowyn's garden," she explained. "He…" Then she sighed. "There is something I have to tell you," she said quietly. "In private."

"My room is closest," Cobryn informed her. "Hopefully we will not run into any maids."

"By the Valar, I pray not," Gúthwyn declared earnestly. She could not bear to have another cycle of rumors arise when only just recently had Lothíriel's viciousness been quelled.

Yet the corridor in which Cobryn's room was located was mercifully servant-free. Cobryn held the door open for Gúthwyn; Éomund's daughter thanked him and stepped through, then stopped short at the sight in front of her. "Where did you get all those books?" she blurted out.

For the entire far wall was covered in bookshelves, every shelf sagging under the weight of numerous volumes. As a result, the air had a slightly musty smell to it.

"Faramir uses this bedroom to store some of his," Cobryn responded, gesturing for her to sit. She selected a chair near the door and lowered herself into it, continuing to stare at the enormous collection. "Your sister told me that he would have removed them beforehand, but for her assuring him that I would not mind in the least."

"He has some books in Rohirric?" Gúthwyn asked in surprise, noticing a few of the titles.

Cobryn smirked as he shut the door. "It appears he attempted to learn his wife's language and was unable to master it."

Gúthwyn could not help but grin. "It is very different from what he and Lothíriel are used to," she pointed out. "Although, interestingly, Legolas was able to easily pick up the few phrases I taught him."

Cobryn looked at her for a minute. "I see you are more comfortable around him than you once were."

"Yes," Gúthwyn agreed, nodding. "Finally."

Drawing out his desk chair, Cobryn sat down in it and asked, "You had something important to discuss with me?"

"Has Hammel… Has Hammel ever told you about someone named Borogor?" Gúthwyn inquired, almost whispering Borogor's name.

Cobryn heard her, nevertheless, and frowned—yet it was the frown of a person connecting the pieces of a puzzle, not of a person who was bewildered. "Is Borogor the name of the man you loved?"

Gúthwyn swallowed. "Yes," she confirmed shakily. "Do you remember the reason I have always hated Faramir?"

Her friend did not speak, but she could read the affirmative answer in his gaze. Taking a deep breath to steady herself, Éomund's daughter forged onwards. "Last night, Faramir brought me to his grave. It is a mere ten-minute walk from this house."

"Faramir buried him here?" Cobryn questioned, his eyes widening in shock.

Gúthwyn nodded, wiping at her cheeks when a few stray tears made them itchy. "He did," she confirmed, "and he showed me the place where…" She trailed off, but she had said enough.

"Do Hammel and Haiweth know?" Cobryn asked.

Gúthwyn shook her head. "Éowyn thinks I should tell them," she replied, "yet… the very thought makes me weary. I do not want to go back there, at least not now."

"You do not have to bring them to him," Cobryn reminded her. "They are fully capable of walking there themselves."

As usual, Gúthwyn found herself unable to argue in the face of Cobryn's logic. "Maybe," she said reluctantly, resignedly. "I… By the Valar, Cobryn," she burst out suddenly, "I never expected Faramir to… And now what? Do I let go of the past and move on? Do I… Do I search for love, as Éowyn would have me do? What am I supposed to do?"

Cobryn's features contorted in the wake of her torrent of questions. "That is your decision," he answered noncommittally.

"I do not want to decide!" Éomund's daughter cried out, distressed. "I have no idea what to do! Cobryn, please, help…"

"You are asking the wrong person," Cobryn told her, shaking his head.

"Cobryn, _please_," Gúthwyn begged, desperate. Almost before she was aware of what she was doing, she had risen from her chair and crossed the room to crouch beside him in supplication. "I know… I know you are in a similar situation," she admitted, looking up at him as he stiffened, "but I also know that you have always given the best advice of all my friends and family. I swear, I am not doing this to torment you: I love you as if you were my own brother, and I would never intentionally hurt you. Please, I need you to…"

Cobryn exhaled and briefly closed his eyes. Gúthwyn felt a sharp surge of guilt when she saw how much anguish she was causing him, and she drew back; but then he looked at her, and said, "From what you have told me, it seems as if you wish to be free of your past—but you believe that opening yourself to the possibility of love would be betraying Borogor."

"Yes," Gúthwyn agreed breathlessly, relieved that he understood her.

"Gúthwyn, he is dead," Cobryn declared bluntly, his expression hardening. "He is not coming back, and you need to accept that. You are doing yourself no favors by depriving yourself of a potentially wonderful husband on his account. If he cared half as much for you as you say he did, he would not resent you for this. You are not cold-hearted—you are naturally disposed to love others. The longer you fight against this, the more miserable you will make yourself."

"You think I should… I should look for love?" Gúthwyn asked, seeing a terrifying new world opening before her.

"If it frightens you, no," Cobryn replied. "Let it come to you instead; I do not doubt there are many willing to offer it. If it happens, it happens. Do not search for love because you feel obligated to, because your siblings or I have recommended it—do it for yourself, and allow it to occur naturally."

"Yet then…" Gúthwyn shivered. "If I find someone… Cobryn, the wedding night… I cannot—"

Again, Cobryn sighed. "I am aware that this is difficult for you to comprehend," he began, "but it is possible for a woman to enjoy the act of making love."

Gúthwyn was already shaking her head vehemently. "No," she choked out.

"Feride found a way," Cobryn said quietly, "and she had previously known nothing but humiliation at a man's hands."

"How?" Gúthwyn demanded, astonished. Cobryn's wife had suffered the same abuse as she had—why would Feride ever put herself at the mercy of a male again?

Cobryn hesitated. "Unfortunately, Gúthwyn, you were violated to such a degree that you lost the desires normal for humans. I also suspect that you were naïve about love to begin with, and that before you were brought to Mordor you did not fully realize what happens when a man and a woman lie together. Because of these things, the idea of anyone deriving pleasure from what seems to you like a barbaric, mortifying exercise is nothing short of unconscionable—am I right?"

Gúthwyn nodded, blushing as she was overwhelmed by embarrassing recollections of nakedness and bodies pressed together and sweat and soft cries. She felt dirty, tarnished by even listening to Cobryn's words.

"Feride trusted me," Cobryn said, "and she loved me enough to try on our wedding night. I did nothing without her permission, and I went slowly—it was several hours before she was ready, and even then I was gentle. It took time and patience, but she did end up…" He trailed off and swallowed. "Gúthwyn, this is something that, for once, I cannot help you with. It is a matter for you and your husband to deal with, if you marry. All I can tell you is that it is possible, and not shameful, for a woman who has been abused to love again. I hope that one day you realize this."

Éomund's daughter was forced to blink rapidly, for tears of unhappiness and frustration were threatening to overwhelm her. What did Éowyn and Feride know that she did not? Why had they experienced pleasure, when 'making love' was but a misleading moniker for the brutal and controlling act? Was there something wrong with them, or was there something wrong with her?

"Gúthwyn—"

"Why is it that any man I might wed has the right to my body?" Éomund's daughter burst out, now openly crying. "W-Why should I have to learn how to enjoy m-making love just to p-please him? I never want to be t-t-touched like that again—why can I not have a m-marriage without fearing that… that every night…" She dissolved into tears again, unable to speak for mortification and a horrible feeling of helplessness.

Cobryn abruptly shot out of his chair and knelt beside her. "Gúthwyn, look at me," he ordered, gripping her by the shoulders and not letting go until she had reluctantly done so. "No man 'has the right' to your body, not even a husband. But Gúthwyn, I cannot stress this enough, _you have to tell him._ If you marry someone, you need to make him realize why you are so frightened when he pulls the covers back and slips into bed beside you. You must explain—before your wedding night—what Haldor did to you. Otherwise, he will not understand."

Gúthwyn adamantly shook her head. "I-If I told a man about… about H-H-Haldor, he would never marry me. I-I am not a virgin; I would be lying to call myself a b-bride."

"Anyone who would decline to wed you because you were raped is not someone you want as a husband," Cobryn retorted. "Regardless of what Haldor told you, none of what he did was your fault—and you deserve nothing less than to move on from the past with someone who loves you and respects you."

"That person is dead," Gúthwyn whispered, shivering.

"Borogor may have been the first, but he is not the only man who has had feelings for you," Cobryn pointed out. "There are plenty of soldiers in Rohan who practically worship the ground you walk on, and who would make excellent husbands."

Gúthwyn was silent. As much as she loved the warriors she had once trained with every day, there were none to whom she was particularly attracted in any sense of the word. And if there were no prospects for her in Rohan, she was not likely to fare better in Gondor—where undoubtedly everyone thought her a whore. But did she even want a husband in the first place? She did not know, and that was what frightened her.

"Perhaps you should ruminate more on this before we continue our conversation," Cobryn suggested kindly. "You have had enough for one day."

Gúthwyn was eager to agree with him. "A thousand thanks," she whispered, leaning over and embracing him. He stiffly returned the hug, but she was too used to his physical reticence to take offense at it. "I-I am sorry if I made you uncomfortable."

Cobryn waved her apology away. "I would endure far worse to see you recover from the torments of Mordor. Do not worry about me."

It was all Éomund's daughter could do to keep from retorting that she _did_ worry about her friend, but she knew that he would never allow her to get closer than that. "I should go," she murmured instead, getting to her feet. Cobryn stood as well. "Thank you for listening… and for your advice. I will consider it."

"Please do," he responded seriously.

And indeed, Cobryn's words to her were all Gúthwyn could think of as she departed from his room and returned to her own. Would it ever be possible for her to find pleasure in making love? She tried to picture it, even with Borogor, and she could not. Yet if she were unable to, would she still benefit from having a husband?

Only one thing was certain: if she were to consider marrying, the man would need to be someone she could trust with her life, and with Hammel and Haiweth's lives as well. He would need to be someone who would never force her to do anything she did not wish to—maybe even on their wedding night. (She gave a small shiver of happiness at the idea, but quickly acknowledged it to be unrealistic and resigned herself to having to grit her teeth and endure it.) Above all, he would need to be someone she loved.

Yet the question remained: except Cobryn, was there any such man in Middle-earth?

* * *

><p>When Gúthwyn heard the voices of both children in Hammel's room, she was strongly relieved: now, she would not have to summon the courage to do what she was about to do twice. As she approached, she heard Haiweth ask, "How can you stand the smell of this place? Someone needs to clean those books—" She cut herself off with a sneeze.<p>

Hammel had apparently chosen not to dignify Haiweth's comment with a response, although a long-suffering sigh did meet Gúthwyn's ears.

"Are you reading about blacksmithing _again_?" Haiweth demanded incredulously. "Does this mean that you and Aldeth kissed when we left Rohan?"

"Listen to yourself," Hammel snorted, nearly perfectly concealing the tremor in his voice. "I am reading a book, and therefore I kissed her? Really, Haiweth, were you at all paying attention at any point of your education?"

"You did!" Haiweth cried. "You had to have. Did you? Please, tell me?"

Thinking she would spare Hammel the interrogation, Gúthwyn raised her fist and knocked on the door.

"Who is it?" Hammel called, no small amount of gratitude in his words.

"Gúthwyn," Éomund's daughter replied; a second later, she was invited in and had crossed the threshold. "What are the two of you doing?" she asked curiously, noting that Hammel was lying on his bed with a book and Haiweth was hovering next to a set of bookshelves almost identical to what Cobryn had in his room. Gúthwyn smiled, detecting Éowyn's hand in this as well.

"I am _trying_ to get Hammel to tell me whether or not he and Aldeth kissed," Haiweth said grumpily, folding her arms across her chest, "but he is keeping it a secret!"

"It is none of your business whether I did or did not," Hammel retorted, his nose practically buried in his reading.

"Yes, it is!" Haiweth insisted indignantly.

Before the argument could go any further, Gúthwyn interjected, "There… There is something I would like to discuss with the two of you."

Both Hammel and Haiweth immediately picked up on her somber tone; they exchanged looks with each other and then turned curiously to her. "What is it?" they inquired in unison.

Gúthwyn took a deep breath to prepare herself, praying that she would have enough strength to do what, in her heart, she knew had to be done. "Perhaps we should all sit down," she suggested nervously.

Haiweth went onto the bed next to Hammel, who moved over to give her room; Gúthwyn made do with an uncomfortable, straight-backed chair. "I have told you both how Borogor died," she began, twisting her hands until the skin turned white, "but there is something else I kept to myself: it was… it was Faramir who killed him."

The children's reactions were simultaneous. Hammel leaned forward, his eyes widening with shock; Haiweth's mouth practically hit the floor as she gasped in horror. "_Faramir_?" she echoed in astonishment. "_Éowyn's_ Faramir?"

Gúthwyn nodded reluctantly. "He did not know who I was," she explained, in response to how devastated Haiweth looked. "Nor did he see me until after he and Éowyn were betrothed, and only at my request did he not inform my sister of how we had already met."

"Cobryn never told me that," Hammel muttered, stung.

"Why would he?" Haiweth asked sharply. "It was not his place." Then, before Hammel could come up with a retort, she addressed Éomund's daughter. "So, that is why you and Éowyn were always fighting with each other, and why you never wanted to go to Ithilien."

"Yes," Gúthwyn confirmed.

"Why are you telling us this now?" Hammel questioned suddenly, his gaze boring into her own. "Did Éowyn find out?"

"She did," Gúthwyn answered quietly. "She found out because Faramir… because Faramir took me to his grave."

"He is buried here?" Haiweth squeaked, her hands flying to her mouth.

Hammel did not speak: he did not seem able to.

"It is about a ten-minute walk from this house," Gúthwyn replied, tears that she could not quite repress springing to her eyes.

"Can we see him?" Haiweth asked hesitantly, as Éomund's daughter uselessly wiped her cheeks.

"I will tell you how to get there," Gúthwyn responded, shaking: she was not ready to go back to Borogor's grave.

"You do not want to go?" Haiweth inquired, confused.

"I cannot, little one," Gúthwyn said, and she was embarrassed when she had to turn away to hide the fact that she was crying. "It… It is t-too soon…"

There was a long pause. Finally, Haiweth suggested, "We can wait until… until you are ready."

Hammel did not say anything, but when Gúthwyn glanced over he was nodding. Touched, Éomund's daughter attempted to dry her eyes. "I-I would like that," she answered. And she spoke truthfully: someday she would return to his grave with the children at her side, but that time could not be now.

"Gúthwyn?" Haiweth asked, and her voice was troubled.

"Yes?"

"I… I barely remember him," Haiweth confessed, staring down at the floor. "Sometimes I even forget what he looked like."

"Haiweth!" Hammel snapped as Éomund's daughter paled.

"I-It is all right," Gúthwyn whispered, although inwardly the fact that Haiweth's memory was already blurred made her panic: what if Borogor's features soon faded from _her_ mind, until the woman he had once loved could no longer recollect his appearance?

_That will never happen,_ she tried to reassure herself. Haiweth's current situation was understandable—the girl had only been five when Borogor had died, after all. The same would not happen to Éomund's daughter, not after all that Borogor had done for her. She vowed that it would not.

"I-I should go," she announced, getting to her feet. "I have to…"

But an excuse died on her lips, and in the end she simply turned around and walked away.


	43. Haiweth's New Lesson

**A/N: **One of the reasons I don't have anything in my author's profile is that I really suck at writing autobiographies or giant blocks of information about myself. That said, I do like answering questions à la online questionnaires (you know, those things where it's like, "Chocolate or vanilla? Republican or Democrat?" etc). I thought it would be fun to create a Formspring account, where people can ask me questions about myself or my writing. I'm not sure if you guys even have anything you'd like to ask me, but I figured it could be interesting! You can find me at www . formspring . me / anolinde - just remove the spaces! =)

Anyway, onto the chapter - enjoy!

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Forty-Three<strong>

"How was your morning?"

The quiet, strained voice of his wife was poison to his ears. Éomer wished that Lothíriel would stop trying to make conversation with him. He hated how pathetic she sounded, how each word she spoke conjured up a horrible memory of the afternoon his entire life had come crashing down upon his shoulders.

"Fine," he grunted. Elfwine was between them at the table, whacking angrily at his lunch with a fork. For his son's sake, and for his son's sake alone, the king of Rohan had to attempt to be polite to the queen.

"How did you do at the training grounds?" Lothíriel persisted, though she did not look at him. She was staring at the uneaten soup in her bowl, having learned already that Éomer would not reward her with eye contact.

"Fine," Éomund's son replied shortly. Lately, he had taken to spending all of his free time either alone with Elfwine or in the company of the other warriors at the training grounds. He had no desire to see his wife any more than he absolutely had to, and he was avoiding her to the best of his capabilities. It did not matter to him what she did in his absence; he never asked.

"Did—" Lothíriel began, but Éomer could not bear to listen to her any longer. He could already feel the bile rising in his throat.

"Son, eat your potatoes," he said.

"Okay, Papa," Elfwine mumbled, stuffing the fork in his mouth.

The tension amongst the three of them was suffocating. Éomer could hardly understand how it had come to this, when just a month ago he had thought himself to be the luckiest man alive. He could scarcely believe that his entire marriage had been a lie, that every moment of his time with Lothíriel she had been working to tarnish his baby sister's reputation.

As if reading his mind, Elfwine yanked the fork out of his mouth, flung it onto his plate, and announced—like he did every day—"I miss Auntie Gúthwyn."

Lothíriel's face contorted, and she looked away. Her shoulders were trembling; Éomer watched her remorselessly. "So do I," he assured his son. "Would you like to help me write a letter to her after you finish eating?"

Elfwine brightened immediately, though not as radiantly as the days when he had basked under his aunt's love. "Can I ask for Hobbit stories? Please, Papa?"

"Of course," Éomer replied, affectionately ruffling the boy's hair. "Gúthwyn will be very happy to tell you one. Perhaps Éowyn will also have a tale for you."

"_Two_ stories?" Elfwine demanded, his eyes widening.

"Yes, two—if you are lucky," Éomer responded.

"How is Éowyn?" Lothíriel inquired, sensing an opening. She was trying to smile, and failing miserably.

"Fine," was Éomer's answer.

Lothíriel's posture sagged, but she did not give up. "A-And my cousin?"

"Fine," Éomer said curtly. "Elfwine, would you like to try signing your name when we write to Gúthwyn?"

"But Papa… What if it's wrong?" Elfwine questioned worriedly. "I just learn."

"I will help you," Éomer promised kindly.

When he snuck a glance at his wife, he noticed that her eyes were filling with tears. Abruptly he turned away from her: she deserved nothing but misery for all the harm she had done to his baby sister. Whenever he thought of Gúthwyn's wretched expression as she said farewell to her nephew, his insides clenched and he knew that he could never fully abide by her inexplicable request to be civil to Lothíriel.

"Mama, why are you crying?" Elfwine wanted to know. Although he refused nearly all of his mother's attempts to play with him in the past two weeks, unlike Éomer he occasionally ventured to make conversation—even if it was rather churlish conversation.

"It is nothing, Elfwine," Lothíriel tried to reply cheerfully. Éomer thought of strangling her as she spoke to the child whom she had devastated, who continued to wake up in the middle of the night wailing for the aunt who had been forced to leave him.

"You're lying," Elfwine accused her, narrowing his eyes. After a pause he added, quieter and yet still audible, "I hate when you do that."

_That makes two of us,_ Éomer thought darkly.

Lothíriel did not seem capable of forming an answer; she merely shook her head and stared at her soup as if she were contemplating drowning herself in it.

"I don't like this," Elfwine declared to no one in particular.

"Son, how about—" Éomer began, but at that moment the main doors opened and Erkenbrand stepped inside the throne room.

"My lord," he said, his accompanying bow to the queen as shallow as it could possibly be while still being considered an act of obeisance.

"Greetings, Erkenbrand," Éomer replied, relieved at the interruption. "What brings you here this afternoon?"

"Gúthwyn's escort has returned," Erkenbrand informed him. "Elfhelm says he needs to speak to you." His voice was grim.

A cold chill swept through Éomer's entire body, tightening his lungs until he could scarcely breathe. "Why?" he demanded. At the same time he leapt to his feet, remembering the reports of Orc activity he had related to the Marshal of the East-mark. "Did something happen?"

"Papa, what's wrong?" Elfwine inquired worriedly, his bottom lip trembling. "Is it Auntie Gúthwyn?"

"I do not know," Erkenbrand responded apologetically. "He did not tell me."

Éomer took a deep breath to steady himself—which was the wrong choice, as his imagination picked that moment to come alive with thoughts of all the horrible things that could have befallen his baby sister. Without another word, he strode past Erkenbrand and hurriedly made his way onto the landing. From his vantage point at the top of the steps, he was able to see a group of riders dismounting their horses. Elfhelm stood off to the side, waiting.

"What is it?" the king of Rohan interrogated his Marshal a moment later, having all but run down the stairs and across the main street. "Erkenbrand told me that you requested an audience with me. Why? Did something happen to Gúthwyn?"

Elfhelm's expression was severe. "We were attacked by a small Orc tribe in the Firienwood," he said. "Or rather, Haiweth was. She had wandered off—I have no idea why, she clearly did not realize the danger of being alone—and we heard her screaming around the same time that scouts came back with a report of Orcs in the area."

"And Gúthwyn?" Éomer pressed, alarmed. "Was she with Haiweth? Were the two of them hurt?"

"Your sister was at the camp when Haiweth called for help, and she ran into the forest before any of us could stop her," Elfhelm answered heavily. "We gave chase, yet she was faster than all of us and reached the scene first. She was able to rescue Haiweth, but while she was doing so an Orc shot her from the trees. In the shoulder, Éomer," he clarified, for the king had staggered back in horror, "and she was not seriously hurt. I pulled the arrow out and changed her bandages daily until we reached Ithilien, at which point I surrendered her to the care of the healer that Éowyn and Faramir employ."

Éomer let out the breath he had not realized he had been holding. "She is all right, then?" he inquired guardedly.

"She sends you her greetings, and already she wants to use the training grounds at Emyn Arnen," Elfhelm replied, rolling his eyes. "In truth, I was surprised by how well she endured the injury: she did not even cry out when I removed the arrow from her shoulder, though she had refused the ale I offered her. I think she did not want the soldiers to perceive her as weak."

Éomer sighed in exasperation. "Her stubbornness amazes me," he muttered.

"Indeed?" Elfhelm retorted, grinning. "It seems to run in the family!"

"Point," Éomer conceded reluctantly, cracking a smile.

"Speaking of family," Elfhelm said, lowering his voice, "how are things with Lothíriel?"

"The same as they were when you left," Éomer replied coldly. "I see no reason to treat her as my wife when she could not even bring herself to treat my sister like a human being."

"What about when the two of you are in council with your advisors?" Elfhelm inquired, knitting his brow. "Surely you have to converse then."

"Hardly," Éomer responded, "since I have told her not to attend."

Elfhelm's eyes widened, and Éomer was surprised to see the faintest hint of disapproval in his gaze. "What?" he demanded harshly.

The Marshal looked hesitant, and only when the king glared at him did he venture, "My lord… In spite of all she has done to your sister, she is still our queen. Why bar her from carrying out her duties?"

"If I let her go to the meetings, I would not be able to concentrate on _my_ duties for thoughts of murdering her," Éomer said darkly.

"Murdering her?" Elfhelm echoed, stunned. "Éomer, I understand that you are angry, but would it not be better to discuss this with her rather than shun her? She must have had some reason to spread those rumors about your sister—have you ever asked her why?"

"There is no reason," Éomer growled. "What reason could she possibly have had to convince half the population of Edoras that Gúthwyn was a whore? No, Elfhelm," he cut the protesting Marshal off, "you do not know the least of what she did to my baby sister. That woman is a monster and does not deserve the decency I would have to muster in order to speak to her! And now, because of her, Gúthwyn has a hole in her shoulder!"

His breathing was ragged when he finished, and Elfhelm clearly knew better than to argue further. "Thank you for bringing Gúthwyn to Ithilien and for treating her injury," Éomer said stiffly, still furious over the fact that Lothíriel's designs had hurt his baby sister in so many ways. "If you will excuse me…"

Elfhelm stepped aside with a bow, and Éomer wasted no time in returning to the Golden Hall. When he entered the throne room, his insides boiled: the servants were gone and Lothíriel was waiting for him, alone, at the table. He knew what she was trying to do—corner him into a conversation—and he suddenly loathed every inch of her for her brazenness. "Where is my son?" he growled.

"In our… in my room, playing with his toys," Lothíriel replied, looking at him beseechingly. "Will you sit down?"

"Why?" Éomer demanded bracingly. "So you can entreat me once more for mercy? So you can uselessly attempt to make me forget what you did to Gúthwyn? I just found out that she was _shot_ by an Orc on her way to Ithilien—a trip she would never have undertaken had it not been for _you_ and your disgusting behavior!"

"Éomer, please," Lothíriel whispered, her eyes watering with tears. "We cannot go on like this—"

"We cannot?" Éomer snarled, stalking over to the table and leaning towards his wife so that he was towering over her. She stared up at him, trembling. "How long were you spreading rumors about her, then? How long were you conspiring against her? Six years, was it? Six years in which you despised my baby sister… and I am more than willing to let you find out what six years of hatred feels like. Then we can discuss forgiveness."

Lothíriel was openly crying now, and the sight evoked no pity from her husband. "Éomer, I-I am so s-s-sorry," she choked out miserably.

"No, you are not," Éomer spat. "You are only sorry that you were caught."

With that he turned around and strode from Meduseld, leaving her weeping behind him—and nor was she the only one who had succumbed to tears. Crouched in the dark shadow of a pillar and unnoticed by his parents, the little prince of Rohan was silently sobbing as if his whole world had been turned inside out.

* * *

><p>Mentally exhausting and excruciatingly slow, Gúthwyn's first week in Ithilien gradually came to a close. In those days, she had suffered more inner turmoil than she could ever remember enduring since her time as a slave. Between seeing Borogor's grave, revealing his existence to Éowyn, and having all her views on marriage and love suddenly thrown into confusion, she was thoroughly drained by the time Legolas left Emyn Arnen.<p>

Unfortunately, even in the absence of the Elf who had inadvertently challenged her deepest beliefs, Gúthwyn was still not granted a reprieve from the emotional assaults that had barraged her ever since her arrival at Ithilien. She had hoped that with Legolas's departure, she would have space and time to recover her frazzled nerves—yet not a day after he had gone, Éowyn pulled her aside after lunch and said in a low, urgent voice that she needed to speak to her.

"O-Of course," Gúthwyn replied, not having anything else to do anyway. Slightly bewildered, she followed the White Lady to her chambers. Once there, Éowyn shut the door behind them and asked her to sit down.

Now thoroughly confused, Gúthwyn obliged and lowered herself into a chair. "What is it, sister? You have me worried."

"I should say the same for you," Éowyn responded, looking troubled. "Haiweth just approached me this morning. She wanted to know the meaning of something you had told her before you left Rohan—that 'should you choose to marry, you shall have to service your husband in bed for the rest of your life.'"

Gúthwyn stiffened, visibly shrinking under Éowyn's stare.

"What horrifies me more," Éowyn continued, "is not the fact that you said this to an impressionable girl, because I am well aware of what you have gone through, but that you have apparently neglected to inform her—or have someone else inform her—what making love is at all! When I tried to enlighten her as to what you were referring to, she had no idea what I was talking about! Sister, how could you?"

"She does not need to be thinking of… of _that_," Gúthwyn insisted, recoiling. "She is too young!"

"She is fourteen years old!" Éowyn retorted. "Fourteen years old, and she does not even know how children are made! I had to sit down with her and tell her everything—she was utterly mortified when she realized what we were discussing. When at last I was done speaking, the first words out of her mouth were, 'Why did Gúthwyn never explain this to me?'"

Incensed, Gúthwyn leaped to her feet. "You had no right to do that!" she cried, glaring at Éowyn. "Haiweth is not your child—"

"Nor is she yours!" Éowyn countered, holding her ground.

"Last I checked," Gúthwyn spat, furious, "it was I, not you, who have fed her and clothed her and sheltered her for over a decade! How dare you interfere with my raising her? First you try to have her shipped off to Minas Tirith, then you go behind my back and… and pollute her mind with such disgusting subjects—what next? Will you arrange a marriage for her?"

"Stop being so foolish," Éowyn hissed coldly. "I know you had every reason to refrain from talking to Haiweth about making love, but at the very least you should have asked someone to tell her what you could not. At this point, you have blinded yourself to her needs! You denied her request to become Queen Arwen's handmaiden because _you_ could not bear the distance, and now you insist on keeping her in the dark because _you_ are terrified of that which you do not comprehend in the slightest!"

"You said yourself: Haiweth is _fourteen years old_," Gúthwyn snarled, barely resisting the sudden urge to strike her sister. "I will _not_ send her to a strange city with no one to watch over her, and I will _not_ allow you to poison her with your whispers of weddings a-and the despicable act that follows after!"

"Cower from marriage all you want, Gúthwyn, but do not attempt to foist your lifestyle upon Haiweth!" Éowyn exclaimed. "You are trying to protect her from an evil you falsely believe is inherent in men, but you fail to realize that Haiweth does not have the same concerns or fears as you—and nor should she!"

"I am done discussing this with you," Gúthwyn growled, clenching her fists. "This is not a debate—you are _not_ Haiweth's caretaker. I am! I am only concerned with what is best for her, and what is best for her does not include being any man's slave! It disgusts me to see you luring her into that trap, with those dresses you gave her and Faramir's sickening promises to introduce her to Aragorn and Arwen. I know exactly what you and your husband are doing, and I will not tolerate it any longer!"

Éowyn was about to deliver an undoubtedly scathing response when the door opened, abruptly ending their argument. The two sisters looked up to see Faramir stepping into the room, his head cocked in worry. "Is everything all right?" he inquired, bewildered. "I heard yells from the other end of the hall…"

"No, everything is just _wonderful_," Gúthwyn replied sarcastically. "Or at least, it would be if the two of you would refrain from corrupting Haiweth!"

Faramir, at least, appeared rather guilty about the accusation, but Éowyn's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Your duties as a mother are coming to an end," she informed Éomund's youngest daughter; "and if you do not stop clinging to them, soon both of the children will resent you for it—if they already do not!"

"And what," Gúthwyn seethed, openly glaring at her sister, "would you know about being a mother?"

"Enough, both of you," Faramir interjected sharply, as Éowyn audibly gasped and visibly paled. Gúthwyn stared at the White Lady in confusion, not understanding what about her remark had been so offensive—for Éowyn had never expressed much interest in having children, so it could not have been that which was now affecting her. "Gúthwyn, please."

Still wondering why Éowyn was now looking anywhere but at her, Gúthwyn turned around and left the room. She soon forgot about her sister's inexplicable reaction, however, in favor of her own fury. How dare the White Lady be so bold as to presume to know what Haiweth needed? And to conscript Faramir into her scheming… How had it come to this? Why was Éowyn so determined to take Haiweth away from her?

One thing, however, was for certain: Gúthwyn would never let her sister succeed.

* * *

><p>There was a long silence after Gúthwyn's departure, broken at last when Éowyn cried, "She is the most stubborn, impossible woman in all of Middle-earth!"<p>

"The two of you were fighting about Haiweth?" Faramir questioned, providing an opening for his wife to vent her obvious frustration. He did not address Gúthwyn's parting words, which he knew were the reason why Éowyn was now struggling to maintain her composure.

Éowyn sank down onto their bed, letting out a groan of annoyance. "Gúthwyn is incapable of understanding that Haiweth wants to marry like any other girl; she is cosseting the poor child and smothering her in the process! I know she has her reasons, but she refuses to acknowledge that her circumstances are different from Haiweth's. She also resists any attempts to make her do so!"

Faramir hesitated as he sat down beside his wife. After hearing about what had happened to Éomund's youngest daughter in Isengard and Mordor, all of Gúthwyn's behavior was now cast into a startlingly clear light—but perhaps because his knowledge had only come about quite recently, he felt inclined to be more lenient about the woman's fears. "There are other ways of convincing her," he suggested quietly. "She does not seem to react well when you argue with her; have you tried talking calmly to her about this problem?"

"No," Éowyn admitted. "Whenever we discuss the issue, we always end up in a quarrel. She is quite obstinate."

"I think…" Again, Faramir checked himself. Who was he to interfere in the matters of Gúthwyn's child? Éomund's youngest daughter hardly needed another excuse to hate him, after all, and he barely knew Haiweth. What he did know, however, was that his wife and her sister were continually at odds with each other for one reason or another, and neither of their temperaments were allowing for compromise.

"Yes?" Éowyn prompted him after a lengthy pause.

"I think you should let the matter rest for now," Faramir continued quietly. "It has been a long week for Gúthwyn; certainly she has had enough emotional upheaval without her parenting skills being called into question. I agree with you," he immediately clarified, for Éowyn had opened her mouth to angrily protest, "but confronting her directly will do nothing. There will be plenty of time later for trips to Minas Tirith, for Gúthwyn to accustom herself to the idea of Haiweth being in Gondor. That time, however, is not now. Your sister is not ready."

Éowyn sighed. "You speak wisely," she answered, "though I just wish that, for once, I could get through to her. It is like there is an invisible wall between us that has been building for so long that we cannot tear it down. We were so close before she was captured… and now it seems as if we cannot have a simple conversation without something going wrong."

"Yet in spite of that, you love each other," Faramir reminded her. "That matters more than your differences."

Éowyn gave him a grateful smile, and leaned forward to gently kiss him on the lips. "Thank you," she said quietly when they separated.

"For what?" Faramir asked: he had not done anything to resolve the problem, save for suggesting that the issue be set aside for awhile.

"For listening, as always," Éowyn replied. "Especially since you and Gúthwyn… Well, I know you cannot enjoy talking about her."

Faramir shook his head. "After what you have told me about her past, I only wish there were more I could do to help her. More than ever, I rue the day I took away what little happiness she had managed to find in that hell. I fear I have ruined her chances of ever seeking love again, for in her mind only Borogor could understand her."

"And yet…" Éowyn paused, exchanging a meaningful look with him. "She is not without prospects, even now."

"We are not entirely certain about that," Faramir cautioned her, fully aware of what his wife was referring to.

"_You_ are not," Éowyn corrected him with a small smile. "That, however, is one conversation I will not be having with her in the foreseeable future," she conceded.

Faramir could not help but feel relieved at this. If Gúthwyn caught the slightest hint of her older siblings' predictions, he did not think she would take well to their speculation. "Let things develop on their own," he now advised Éowyn. "I suspect they will proceed far more quickly that way."

"You may be right about that," Éowyn murmured, tilting her head up to capture him in another kiss.


	44. Éowyn's Secret

**Chapter Forty-Four**

_Éomer—_

Gúthwyn hesitated, then forced herself to continue.

_Éomer,_

_I—_

But where to begin? She knew that her brother deserved the same account of Borogor she had given to Éowyn, though it had taken her a whole week to convince herself to embark upon the daunting task of transferring such memories to parchment. Now that she had sat down, however, quill in hand and bottle of ink at her side, all she could think of was how trying it would be to repeat the story again.

_Éomer,_

_I know I have long withheld this information from you, but I hope you will understand why when this letter is finished. I write now because my reason for keeping it secret has ceased to be a concern. I apologize if I am confusing you—bear with me, and I will explain myself._

_Do you remember the man I loved?_

Gúthwyn swallowed, already wavering. She had not yet reached the point where she could think of Borogor without the fleeting urge to cry: his loss was only slowly beginning to heal. For Éomer's sake, however, she forged on.

_Do you remember the man I loved? How I told you he had died, long ago, and how I spoke so little of him that you may have forgotten that he existed? His name was Borogor. I met him on my first day in Mordor; he was the second-in-command there. He tried to warn me about Haldor, though I did not listen. Unfortunately, he could not save me then—but he protected me from both the other men and myself, when Haldor's abuse became too much and I lashed out because of it. He also took care of the children when I was not able to, which was often. Finally, it was he who taught me how to use a sword, and I owe all my victories against you on the training grounds to him._

_I could go on for pages and pages without exhausting the stories I have of him, but I know you are wondering why I am revealing this now. The reason, Éomer, is because in June of 3018 I went scouting with Borogor and his men in the forests of Ithilien; because we were ambushed by Faramir's Rangers, and it was Faramir himself who spared me but killed Borogor; and because a week ago, after almost a decade of tip-toeing around Éowyn to avoid hurting her with the truth, Faramir and I ended the charade. Faramir buried Borogor right in Emyn Arnen, and with both Borogor's grave and his ghost in such proximity our guise did not last._

_There is more that you need to know to understand, however. Shortly after Borogor's death, I discovered that he had intended to ask me to marry him. Only then did I realize how much I loved him. Had he ever gotten the words out, I would have said yes. That, brother, is why I was so resistant to your designs of marriage, why even when proposed to by men such as Tun and Elfhelm and Gamling and Elphir I could not bring myself to envision a future with them. I believe that, had I told you this in the beginning, those years of our lives would have easier. I am sorry that I gave you so much trouble when you were only doing what you thought was best for me._

_That said, I think… I think I might be ready to try again._

Gúthwyn started, stared in astonishment at what she had just written, and quickly scratched the last sentence out. It was true that she had had unbidden thoughts about whether she had been right in avoiding marriage, and that recently she had even been considering potentially opening herself to the possibility of love—although in a very noncommittal way, and had she been confronted on the matter she would have nervously retreated—yet it was another thing entirely to see it in script. It frightened her.

Besides, she knew her brother. He had vowed not to arrange a match for her, but if he so much as suspected that she was amenable to the idea of a wedding he would undoubtedly conspire with Éowyn. Her siblings had always advocated finding a husband as a means of recovery—and since she had barely withstood them individually, she shuddered to imagine what would happen if they joined forces.

A knock on the door drove her from her thoughts. She remembered that she had been expecting Nestadan to change her bandages and called out, "Come in!" as she hastily put away her letter.

Seconds later, Nestadan stepped over the threshold, carrying with him his usual store of herbs and bandages. Gúthwyn eyed them somewhat irritably, wishing they were not necessary. She was wholeheartedly sick of her injury, and was more than ready to forsake the limitations which had been placed on her because of it.

"How does this afternoon find you, my lady?" Nestadan inquired, setting his supplies on her nightstand. As always, the door to the room was left open.

"Well, thank you," Gúthwyn replied automatically, starting to undo the bandages currently on her shoulder. Because of Nestadan's visits, she now wore tunics every day. "And yourself?"

"I have no reason to complain," the healer replied cheerfully, taking out the jar that contained the poultice he had found to be successful in treating her shoulder. "How is it today?" he inquired, gesturing at the still-mending wound she had now exposed to the air.

"Fine," Gúthwyn responded promptly, as she did without fail each time he questioned her.

Nestadan shook his head. "My lady, you are not doing anyone a favor by abusing the word 'fine'—least of all yourself."

"But it _is_ fine!" Éomund's daughter protested, though she could not conceal her flinch when he began treating the affected area. "I do not understand why all this is necessary—I see no reason to abstain from my daily affairs."

"Patience," Nestadan cautioned her. "You will not be kept from the training grounds forever."

"It _feels_ like forever," Gúthwyn grumbled morosely. "It has already been over a week!"

Nestadan looked as if he had tried valiantly to suppress his laughter, but she heard him chuckle quite audibly as he began to gather his healing supplies together. "I hope you realize that a hole in your shoulder will take more than a few days to close," he spoke. "You are lucky the wound never became infected."

"How much longer do I have to wait?" Gúthwyn asked impatiently.

"At least a couple more weeks, even a month if necessary," Nestadan replied, placing his things back into his medicine bag. "And I reserve the right to extend that," he added warningly.

"This is ridiculous!" Gúthwyn exploded, frustrated beyond belief. "My shoulder is fine!"

Her indignation was such that she had almost forgotten that she was again alone in her room with Nestadan—almost. Fortunately, most of her anxieties were already alleviated by the fact that her door was still open; additionally, Nestadan had proven himself (thus far) to be warm, kind, and more given to laugh at her than do anything questionable. This was certainly true now, judging by the amused expression in his gaze.

"The wound has barely started to heal," he reminded her. "It needs more time."

Gúthwyn exhaled loudly. Now what was she supposed to do? Without being able to go to the training grounds, she had nothing to occupy her days. Although she would have been forced to work around the Rangers' schedules if she were able to use Framwine, anything was better than her current state of boredom. Her desperation had sunk to such depths that she was actually contemplating borrowing one of Cobryn's books.

As if reading her mind, Nestadan said, "Surely you have interests that lie outside the realm of strenuous activity." It was more of a question than a statement.

Gúthwyn shrugged, a pained expression on her face. "I have yet to meet more than a few people here," she replied glumly. "Without any friends, I have no one besides Éowyn, Cobryn, and the children to talk to. And Faramir," she corrected herself, only so that Nestadan would not grow suspicious. "At home I used to spend nearly all my time with my nephew, and now I will be lucky to hear news of him once a month."

"The men and women here are friendly," Nestadan assured her. "You will not lack companions for long."

"I hope not," Gúthwyn responded wistfully. She remembered how she had never made the walk down the main street of Edoras in under half an hour, due to all the conversations she found herself engaged in. Now, there were only polite smiles. More than anything, she wanted to forge friendships in Emyn Arnen that would help fill the loneliness she felt—but the question was, where was the opening that would allow her to do so?

"How old is your nephew?" Nestadan inquired then, drawing her out of her thoughts.

"Elfwine is five," she answered promptly, smiling sadly as she recalled how talkative the little child was. "He is quite the rascal—but he really is a charming, adorable boy. He can hardly wait until the day he is as strong as his father. Even now, at so young an age, he orders his wooden cavalry about as if he were in the midst of a battle."

Nestadan laughed at this. "He is following in King Éomer's footsteps, then."

Gúthwyn nodded happily. "My brother is a very lucky man," she murmured. "Having one's own child must be wonderful."

"It has many rewards," Nestadan agreed, "although it is also quite taxing."

Éomund's daughter looked at her healer in surprise. "You are a father?" she asked, having been unaware that he was married in the first place.

It was well-concealed, but still there was the unmistakable swell of pride in Nestadan's chest as he responded, "Yes. I have a seven-year-old son and a four-year-old daughter."

"What are their names?" Gúthwyn wanted to know.

"Galanhîr and Gilwen," Nestadan told her, the tiniest grin on his face that he could not wipe away. "I thank the Valar every day for them."

"And your wife?" Gúthwyn inquired further. "What is her name?"

"Nanaendis," Nestadan answered, his happiness with his marriage evident in the way his voice softened as he spoke of his spouse.

Unbidden, Gúthwyn felt a strange pang of jealousy. "I am glad for you," she said quietly; and though she was not lying, she could not help but wish for a moment that the Valar had extended the same good fortune to her.

"Thank you," Nestadan replied, looking closely at her. She blushed, suddenly realizing that perhaps her emotions had been more transparent than she would have liked them to be. Fortunately, however, the healer did not ask her why she had not chosen the same path. Instead he asked, "Would you like to meet them?"

"I would love to," Gúthwyn said wholeheartedly, slightly taken aback by the kindness of his offer.

"If you are so inclined, you are welcome to have dinner with us this evening," Nestadan offered. "Nanaendis has spent the whole day preparing vegetable stew, and as always she will cook far more than the four of us can eat—even with Galanhîr and his appetite."

Touched by the invitation, Gúthwyn nevertheless feared that she would be imposing. "That sounds wonderful," she told him sincerely, "but I would not want to intrude on a family meal—only if Nanaendis does not mind—" She was fumbling around for words again like an idiot. Not for the first time, she resented Cobryn for his gift with spoken language.

"Worry not, my wife would be delighted to have a guest," Nestadan assured her. "And if you are concerned about inconveniencing Lady Éowyn, I will speak to her and ask her for the permission of your company for the evening."

Gúthwyn could no longer refuse—not that she had any desire to—without being rude. Her trust in Nestadan had risen significantly, now that she knew he had both a wife and children whom he loved: he had little reason to cause her harm, and in the presence of another woman she had nothing to fear. Therefore, she smiled gratefully and accepted his invitation.

Nestadan left soon after, and later she heard from Éowyn that the White Lady had indeed been approached and asked about the possibility of engaging Éomund's youngest daughter for dinner. Éowyn was pleased that her sister was beginning to make friends; Faramir was relieved that he would not have to face her for yet another awkward meal. Although her interactions with the Steward had considerably improved in the way of civility, the past between them would never be forgotten and made it impossible for them to behave as if they were anything more than polite acquaintances.

Thus, it was with the royal couple's blessing that Gúthwyn left her chambers at the setting of the sun and walked the short distance to Nestadan's home. Thankfully, there were plenty of lights in the windows of the nearby dwellings for her to see by; otherwise she would have requested that Cobryn accompany her, regardless of how ridiculous she sounded.

She arrived at the house without incident, and knocked hesitantly on the door. There was an immediate scuffle, punctuated by shouts of "_I_ want to answer it!", before there was a loud "_Mama!_" and a scurrying away of tiny feet, a "Galanhîr, how many times have I told you not to push your sister?", a "Sorry, Mama…"; and then at last the door was opened by a contrite seven-year-old with sandy-colored hair and bright red cheeks. "Did you really get shot by an Orc?" he asked in awe, staring up at her.

"Galanhîr!" his mother scolded from just beyond Gúthwyn's vision.

Gúthwyn could not help it: she laughed. "I did," she informed the boy, smiling. "Your father healed it for me."

"Was there a lot of blood?" Galanhîr demanded eagerly.

"Now, really!" Nanaendis exclaimed, at last coming into view. She was a few inches taller than Gúthwyn, slender, and with warm brown eyes that matched the color of her hair. "I am so sorry," she apologized, her hands resting warningly on a disappointed Galanhîr's shoulders. "He wants to be a healer like his father, but right now he is more interested in hearing about gruesome injuries than fixing them."

"That is quite all right," Gúthwyn replied, not in any way offended by Galanhîr's interrogation.

"She didn't answer my question," the boy whispered loudly to his mother, looking rather put out.

Gúthwyn giggled. "It only bled when a friend of mine pulled the arrow out. But then he put bandages on it, and it has been fine since. I am Gúthwyn," she added, both to him and to his mother. "Did Nestadan—"

"Please, come in," Nanaendis was already saying, stepping aside so that Éomund's daughter could cross the threshold. "Nestadan is with our daughter—ah, here he is!"

Nestadan had evidently been in another room; now he approached, carrying in his arms a small girl with golden hair and a cautious disposition. Before her father had time to greet their guest, the child narrowed her eyes and inquired worriedly, "Who's that?"

"This is Gúthwyn," Nestadan explained as Nanaendis closed the door behind Éomund's daughter. "She is Princess Éowyn's sister. You remember Princess Éowyn, do you not?"

"Is she princess?" Gilwen asked, her interest piqued. Gúthwyn was reminded of Haiweth.

"She's not a princess," Galanhîr bet. "There can't be _two_."

"I am not," Gúthwyn confirmed, forced to disappoint Gilwen. "Only Éowyn is."

"What are you, then?" Galanhîr wanted to know.

"Now, now, son, you will frighten our guest away before she even sits down at the table!" Nestadan gently chided him. "Please, have a seat," he told Gúthwyn.

"Is there anything I can help you with?" Gúthwyn inquired concernedly. Nestadan literally had his hands full with Gilwen, and Galanhîr looked as if he required both parents' supervision in order to not wreak havoc upon the household.

"Not at all," Nestadan nevertheless assured her, and gestured again towards the table that occupied the far side of the room. "Please."

As Éomund's daughter obliged him and lowered herself into a chair, Galanhîr followed her and began another round of interrogation. "So, if you're not a princess, what are you?" he repeated.

"Galanhîr—" Nestadan started to reprimand the boy.

"It is fine," Gúthwyn quickly interjected.

Nestadan would likely have persisted in quieting his son, but for the fact that Gilwen chose that moment to scream that she had lost her favorite toy.

"I am the sister of a princess," Gúthwyn offered to Galanhîr as Nestadan cursed and began searching for the toy amongst their surroundings, raising her voice slightly in order to be heard. "I am also the sister of a king."

"King Elessar?" Galanhîr demanded in shock. "Him?"

"No, he is too old!" Gúthwyn exclaimed with a giggle. Aragorn had lived for almost a century; in fact, he was sixty years Éomer's senior. "King Éomer."

Galanhîr wrinkled his nose. "Who is that?"

"The king of Rohan," Gúthwyn replied, "both a brave and a generous man. His son, Prince Elfwine, is only two years younger than you."

"He's five? That's not very old," Galanhîr scoffed, obviously considering himself infinitely superior to five-year-olds. "Is Rohan where the horses are?"

Gúthwyn nodded, a soft smile coming to her face. "There are hundreds of horses," she told Galanhîr, whose mouth opened in a gap-toothed circle of shock. "They run on the fields that stretch as far as the eye can see, and they are faster than all others of their kind."

"Even King Elessar's?" Galanhîr inquired in astonishment.

"Even King Elessar's," Gúthwyn confirmed with a chuckle. "In fact, King Elessar gets some of his steeds from King Éomer."

Galanhîr mulled this over. "So… Does that make you a queen?"

"Thank the Valar, no," Gúthwyn responded. "I could never be a queen—too much work!"

"Then what are you?" Galanhîr persisted, looking annoyed that he could not figure her out.

His words made Gúthwyn pause. She had half-opened her mouth to say something about the children, or her friends, when she realized that she was not, in fact, as confident about who she was as she had once thought. Now, with her life turned upside-down and everything she had believed about herself scattered to the wind, she was more uncertain about her future than ever before.

When she had dwelled in Rohan, she had assumed that she would spend all of her remaining days training with the guards or riding Sceoh or conversing with her people. She would have Hammel and Haiweth and Éomer and Elfwine and Cobryn with her, always, and life as she knew it would continue in the same manner until her death. That she should want for anything else had never crossed her mind, not with all the distractions that Edoras provided.

Yet this was not so now. Rohan, and Éomer and Elfwine along with it, were distant longings and aches inside her heart; Hammel and Haiweth were drifting away from her, no matter how hard she fought against their detachment; only Cobryn remained, and even he would soon take his place amongst Faramir's advisors or devote himself to other studies. Éowyn had a husband to love, herb gardens to occupy her, and Haiweth to mentor—Gúthwyn could not expect the White Lady to be the sister that she needed her to be, not when she had so many other commitments.

Where did that leave her, then? She had connections, yes, more connections than most. As she had told Galanhîr, she was the sister of both a king and a princess. She was on close terms with the rulers of Gondor and Dol Amroth; her list of correspondents included Hobbits and a Dwarf. There were so many people she knew and loved and admired throughout Middle-earth, yet there was a distinct emptiness in her heart and soul that had burrowed its way into her without her noticing it until it could no longer be driven out.

"I suppose you are not the only one wondering who I am," Gúthwyn said to Galanhîr with a sigh. All her life, she had been Théoden's niece. Éomer's sister. She did not resent being known for her relation to such honorable men as her uncle and brother—not in the least—but she had yet to be acknowledged for something that _she _had done. The rumors about Hammel and Haiweth did not count; for, after all, they were not true. The time for great deeds in battle was long gone, but if she could accomplish something else…

"You have to be _someone_," Galanhîr scoffed. "Are you like Mama?"

"I do not have children," Gúthwyn replied, unable to conceal her wistfulness.

Galanhîr frowned. "Why not?"

"I am not married," she informed him, wondering why everything these days kept coming back to that.

"You're _not_?" Galanhîr demanded, stunned. "Papa," he said as Nestadan returned to the table with Gilwen and her toy in tow, "she's not married!"

Nestadan laughed. "Is that a problem?" he asked, sitting down and lowering Gilwen to the ground. Gilwen immediately clambered up onto her own chair, looking proud of herself for the accomplishment.

"_Every _grownup is supposed to be married!" Galanhîr exclaimed, his eyes wide. "You and Mama are married!"

"Yes, but that does not mean _everyone_ has to be," Nestadan informed his son, winking at Gúthwyn.

Gúthwyn gave a weak smile in response, for she suddenly would have given anything to be in Nestadan's position. To have children of her own, a home to share with her beloved… The familiar coils of envy tightened within her. This jealousy was not becoming—and yet she could control it no more than the fear she felt around a strange man.

"Here we are," Nanaendis said just then, her voice followed by the delicious aroma of what promised to be a delectable stew. She set it down on the table with a flourish, then walked away to get rid of the rags she had wrapped around her hands for protection.

"Galanhîr, wait," Nestadan reprimanded his son, as the child's fingers reached for the serving ladle.

Galanhîr pouted, but it was only a moment before Nanaendis had returned and joined them at the table. The child then gave a whoop of joy and delightedly served himself a generous portion of the stew. Having attended first to his own plate, he then remembered his manners and very courteously—though not without difficulty, for his hands were small—pushed the dish towards Gúthwyn.

Éomund's daughter took enough to be polite. She now consumed three meals a day, but they were still smaller than was considered normal. This did not bother her, for it was enough that she could stomach as much as she did when only a few years ago she had scarcely been capable of eating dinner, yet she did not want Nestadan and Nanaendis to receive the impression that their food did not appeal to her.

"So, Lady Gúthwyn," Nanaendis began when all had plenty on their plates, "how do you find Emyn Arnen thus far?"

"Please, just Gúthwyn," Éomund's daughter replied earnestly. "And it is beautiful—all of you are quite lucky to have made this your home."

"We do consider ourselves most fortunate," Nestadan said, exchanging a smile with Nanaendis. "Have you yet explored the surrounding woods? I would not advise wandering off into the forest on your own if you are unsure of your way, but there are plenty of wondrous sights if you are certain you will not lose your sense of direction."

Gúthwyn nodded. "Éowyn and I rode our horses to the nearby waterfall," she answered, trying to forget the reason why they had gone. "Yet I daresay there is beauty closer to home—particularly in Éowyn's gardens."

The next several minutes were spent in praise of the White Lady's skill with herbs and flowers, to which Gilwen cheerfully contributed (she seemed to share Haiweth's interest in all things 'pretty'), but at length Galanhîr grew tired of discussing plants. "Tell us about Rohan," he commanded imperiously.

"Galanhîr, have you forgotten the word 'please' and what it means?" Nanaendis questioned in exasperation.

"Please," Galanhîr hastily added, looking quickly at Gúthwyn as if in fear of being on the receiving end of her disapproval.

Éomund's daughter, however, was only too happy to oblige; and since Nestadan and Nanaendis kept plying her with inquiries about Rohirric life, Galanhîr was able to learn to his heart's content. Gúthwyn felt her spirits growing lighter as she spoke, and she could not help but grin as she recalled for them both the valor of her people in battle and the daily routines of their lives.

When she was done, even Galanhîr was silent—though not for long. "If you like it so much, then why did you leave?" he demanded.

"I thought it was high time I paid my sister a visit," Gúthwyn replied lightly.

Nestadan's expression turned bewildered. "I thought Éowyn said you were to stay here for perhaps a year, even more?"

"A lengthy visit," Gúthwyn amended, hitching the smile back onto her face as quickly as it faltered.

"Well, as long as you are here you are welcome at our table," Nanaendis told her.

Gúthwyn flushed, touched by the woman's kindness—although she rather suspected that it was mostly due to Nestadan feeling sorry for her. "A thousand thanks," she nevertheless said gratefully.

Nanaendis inclined her head. "Have you yet seen the White City? It would be well worth the trip."

Gúthwyn assured her that she had, albeit not in quite some time. "Though I doubt this will be the case for long. Haiweth—the girl I am taking care of—is quite intent on visiting, and Éowyn is nothing but supportive of the venture."

Nanaendis laughed; the sound was musical, a merry brook bubbling forth in the warm months of summer. "It seems as if she is intent on showing you everything there is to see in this part of Middle-earth! I expect she will also want to make the journey to Legolas's colony."

"Papa went there!" Gilwen piped up, pleased to join the conversation. "Papa saw Elves!"

"You did?" Gúthwyn inquired, glancing at Nestadan curiously. It was the healer's prerogative to travel wherever he liked, of course, but she was surprised that he would undertake such an expedition with his young family still at home.

Galanhîr beat Nestadan to the reply. "He went because of Princess Éowyn," he declared proudly. "Because of Éowyn's baby."

"Galanhîr!" Nestadan hissed as Gúthwyn's mouth fell open.

"_W-What_?" Éomund's daughter spluttered, her face draining of color. Éowyn was _pregnant_ and she had not told her own sister?

"Excuse him," Nestadan muttered with a sigh. "He does not understand that it was a false alarm—I am so sorry—I know how upset your sister was."

"False alarm?" Gúthwyn echoed blankly, staring at the healer.

Nestadan's brow knit in confusion. "Yes, about a year ago—I thought… Did she not tell you?"

Gúthwyn put her fork down, having abruptly lost her appetite. "No," she said, her voice small and betraying her hurt. Éowyn had believed, if only for a short time, that she was with child and had not thought to inform Gúthwyn about it? What else had her sister concealed from her over the years?

"She, er… she missed her courses one month," Nestadan explained, looking rather uncomfortable about doing so—not that Éomund's daughter could blame him. "They came the next, however. She must not have wanted to raise your hopes until she could confirm the pregnancy, not when she and Faramir have been unsuccessful for so long."

Gúthwyn swallowed. "Th-They have been trying to have a child?" she asked slowly.

Words almost failed Nestadan. "You… You did not know?" he finally managed, his face pale.

Perhaps she should not have been as astounded as she was by the news; yet in all honesty, Gúthwyn had never considered the possibility that her sister would want a son or a daughter. Éowyn had not been given the title of the White Lady without reason: she was kind, yes, but she had always been more inclined to wield a blade than fuss over a child. Had this, then, also changed when she set aside the ways of the sword?

"I…" Éomund's daughter trailed off, unable to find words sufficient enough to express the emotions overwhelming her. Why had her sister not so much as mentioned this to her—nor to Éomer, judging by the fact that Gúthwyn had never heard him speak of it? Was Éowyn angry at Éomer for achieving what she had not, at Gúthwyn for refusing to visit her? "H-How long has this… has this been an issue?"

Nestadan hesitated, and Nanaendis seemed very grateful when Gilwen asked her to cut a particularly large vegetable in her stew.

"Papa, you're not answering the question!" Galanhîr reprimanded his father.

Whether it was the rebuke of a seven-year-old or the pleading look that Gúthwyn was giving him, Nestadan finally relented. "They started worrying when two years passed without her becoming pregnant. Since then, they have tried everything."

"Éowyn never told me this," Gúthwyn murmured, stung. Her voice was hardly more than a whisper.

"She likely did not want you to worry on her account," Nanaendis suggested diplomatically, though her expression was troubled.

To her horror, Gúthwyn felt a familiar lump in her throat rising. She stared down at her plate, willing the burning sensation to go away. Around her an awkward silence reigned, for neither Nestadan nor Nanaendis could find something with which to steer the conversation in a safer direction.

It took Gilwen accidentally knocking her cup over and spilling milk across the table for them to recover. The three adults leaped to their feet and made perhaps a bigger scene than was warranted, exerting more effort than necessary to clean up the mess. When their work was done, the subject was changed altogether—but had someone asked her afterwards what they had talked about, Gúthwyn would not have been able to provide an answer.

For her mind remained fixed on Éowyn's problem, and she was full of pity for her sister. It was also equally troubling that Éowyn had never confided in her. Was it really out of consideration on the White Lady's part that Gúthwyn had been kept in the dark, as Nanaendis had theorized, or was there another, more sinister, explanation? Not for the first time, Gúthwyn questioned the place she held in her sister's heart. Had her clashes with Faramir done more damage to her relationship with Éowyn than she had initially perceived? Did Éowyn resent her so much that she would hide something of such magnitude from her?

Gúthwyn shivered at the idea, and the food she was eating turned to ash in her mouth.


	45. An Unlikely Conspiracy

**Chapter Forty-Five**

Night had come to Emyn Arnen. Darkness had gathered and settled upon the hills like a comforting blanket; the moon shone gently, bringing peace to the land. Éowyn could see it from her window as she finished writing a letter to Éomer, using the light of a candle to guide her. She was alone: Faramir was holed up in his study, pouring over some documents that had recently been brought to him and required his immediate attention. Éowyn did not mind waiting up for him, for she had already resolved to stay awake until Gúthwyn came back from her dinner with Nestadan and his family.

The healer's gesture had been very kind, Éowyn reflected. She knew that Gúthwyn had been lonely without her usual host of friends to converse with, and Nestadan must have detected this as well. In spite of this, however, she was somewhat surprised that Gúthwyn had accepted the invitation. Her sister had always appeared nervous around the healer, for he was a strange man and her memories would not permit her to trust him. It seemed, however, that her need for companions had overcome her wariness.

A soft knocking sound compelled her to set aside her correspondence. Standing up, she crossed the room and opened the door—whereupon she was surprised to see the upset expression on Gúthwyn's face. "Sister?" the White Lady questioned concernedly. "Is something wrong?"

Gúthwyn slipped inside the room and turned to face her older sister. Without further preamble, she asked, "Why did you not inform Éomer or myself that you are having problems conceiving?"

Éowyn had expected anything but this, and she was so stunned that she took a step backwards. "W-What are you talking about?" she demanded, more out of shock than a desire to deny the accusation. "Did Nestadan tell you this?"

"It slipped out," Gúthwyn replied, her expression troubled. "He mentioned that he had traveled with you once to Legolas's colony, and when I asked why his son said that he had gone because of your child. You thought you were pregnant and you never wrote? Why?"

Éomund's oldest daughter swallowed. Well did she remember that occasion, a memory of the days in which she had foolishly believed her child-bearing problems were over. Less than a week after she returned to Emyn Arnen, she had discovered blood on her sheets. It was only one of the dozens upon dozens of times she had been similarly disappointed, but the fact that she had been deceived into thinking she was pregnant had made the blow doubly hard to endure.

"I was waiting until it was certain," Éowyn at last told Gúthwyn, the resentment in her voice seeping through. "Needless to say, I soon learned that I had no cause to write."

Gúthwyn wrinkled her brow in confusion. "But why did you not explain your troubles to us earlier? We could have—"

"Helped?" Éowyn cut her off bitterly. "How? By telling me 'maybe next time' when each month proved my womb to be empty? Would you, Gúthwyn, have discussed the ways of conception with me?"

Éowyn regretted her harsh words an instant later when the other woman paled and stared down at the floor. "I am sorry, baby sister," she apologized quietly. "I should not have said that."

"I-It is all right," Gúthwyn whispered, yet only some of the color returned to her cheeks. "Is that why you never confided in me? Because of… because I…"

Éowyn shook her head. "That was not the only reason, although I knew you would never be comfortable discussing the matter. In truth"—now it was she who could not meet her sister's eyes—"I was ashamed."

"Ashamed?" Gúthwyn was genuinely perplexed. "Why? What do you have to be ashamed of?"

"Every time I see a mother with her child," Éowyn replied wretchedly, "it is a reminder that I have failed where others have so easily succeeded. So many of the women here have managed to give birth—and yet I, who am otherwise healthy, am barren."

"Do not say that," Gúthwyn replied with a gasp. "You still have time."

"Not more than a few years," Éowyn pointed out, walking over to her desk so that Gúthwyn would not see the helpless tears she was struggling to hide. "Besides, if the past decade has not produced a child, it would seem that my remaining window of opportunity will be similarly fruitless."

She was trying so hard not to give into the growing sense that she was running out of chances to become pregnant, but an undercurrent of desperation now marred her every union with Faramir. Already she was thirty-two; she had not heard of a woman safely giving birth after the age of forty, and most midwives predicted complications after thirty-five. Despair was constantly gnawing at her insides, for she feared that one day she would wake up and it would be too late—and that, because of her, Faramir would never know what it was like to be a father. He hid from her how much he desired a son or daughter, but she could always read the disappointment he tried to conceal when she announced that her courses had come.

"You cannot give up," Gúthwyn said softly. Éowyn glanced up at her in surprise, but the other woman's expression was quite unreadable. "Life has been good to you," Gúthwyn continued, though without the slightest trace of resentment. Instead her gaze was unfocused, as if she were lost in her own thoughts. "I do not doubt your wish will be granted."

"Gúthwyn?" Éowyn asked cautiously, wondering what was going through her sister's head. There was something about the younger woman's expression that she could not put her finger on, but there did not seem to be immediate cause for worry.

Slowly, Gúthwyn's eyes returned to normal. "Promise me you will not stop trying?" she pleaded quietly. A small smile toyed with her lips. "I would like to be an aunt again, and this time without the mother hating me."

The gloom was temporarily lifted from Éowyn's shoulders as she somehow found it within herself to laugh. "I could never hate you, baby sister," she responded. "And I would love for you to have a niece or another nephew." _Almost as much as I would love to be a mother_, she thought morosely.

Gúthwyn seemed to detect the dark turn that the White Lady's musings had taken, and she abruptly crossed the room to embrace her tightly. "Then keep hoping," she whispered fiercely, her thin frame all but crushing Éowyn's. "I know you will have a child. I can feel it."

Although Éowyn could tell that Gúthwyn was just trying to lift her spirits, and she was well aware that the chances of her giving birth were slim to none at this point, it was refreshing to hear that someone in Emyn Arnen still had faith.

"You know what?" Gúthwyn asked as they drew apart, wiping at her eyes as if something had caught inside them. "I think you… and Faramir… need a day off. When was the last time you had one?"

Éowyn was already shaking her head, both amused and saddened by Gúthwyn's naïveté—for she could tell what her sister was getting at, though she was pointedly avoiding directly addressing the issue. A romantic rendezvous somewhere in the forests of Ithilien was not going to improve her chances of conception. While making love in her marriage bed had lost its luster due to the never-ending pressure of trying to create life, the first few years had been enthusiastic without result.

"Do not trouble yourself," she now told Gúthwyn.

Yet it was too late. A determined expression was forming in her sister's eyes, one that usually emerged when she was trying to convince others (often wrongly) that she was in full health after an injury. It was the same look that she got when she was about to advocate for one of the children or Elfwine, and it carried a loud and clear message: anyone who opposed her had best surrender if they valued their limbs or eardrums.

"When was the last time you had one?" Gúthwyn repeated, folding her arms across her chest.

Éowyn did her best to humor her sister, pretending that the matter did not revolve around her infertility so as to avoid any resentment in her response. She suspected that Gúthwyn was maintaining the same charade, but for different reasons. "Some months ago," she said. "Faramir has been busy recently."

Gúthwyn huffed in disapproval; Éowyn almost smiled, remembering how much her sister objected to anything that involved paperwork. "Well, that will not do," the other woman retorted. "When will he stop being busy?"

If so much were not at stake, Éomund's eldest daughter might have found the situation comical. "Not for another week or two, I expect," she informed Gúthwyn truthfully. "He is still wrapping up some reports for King Elessar."

Gúthwyn's gaze narrowed thoughtfully, and she turned away in contemplation. She walked to the window and stared out of it for a long while; then, when Éowyn was about to inquire as to what on Middle-earth she was mulling over, she muttered something under her breath. "Legolas."

Arching an eyebrow, Éowyn asked, "Excuse me?"

At first, Gúthwyn did not seem to realize that she had spoken aloud. When at last she comprehended what her older sister was saying, she turned around and plastered the sweetest, most devious smile across her face. "Nothing," she lied shamelessly.

Éowyn made a mental note to interrogate Éomer for every last detail of their baby sister's interactions with the Elven prince, for it had not escaped her notice that Gúthwyn was more comfortable around him than ever before; yet at the moment, a sudden misgiving seized her. "Please, do not discuss this with others," she implored sharply—"as I have kept your secrets."

"Éowyn, I would never!" Gúthwyn protested instantly, horrified. "I promise," she vowed sincerely, "not a word will fall from my lips. I swear it."

Silently cursing the Valar for Gúthwyn's ability to turn those wide, innocent eyes on someone and completely wipe away any form of resistance—not to mention make the person in question feel bad for offering it—Éowyn reluctantly decided to let the Legolas comment slide. Of all people, Gúthwyn understood the importance of a secret: she had spent the past decade hiding the dark truths from her years as a slave.

Sometimes, Éowyn wondered how her little sister kept it all together. It was as if she had a different face for every person who met her. She presented one side of herself to her children, yet showed something completely separate to her siblings. The citizens of Edoras knew varying degrees of nothing, some perhaps more than others—and Elfwine was kept entirely in the dark. Others, like Legolas, gave no hint as to what they heard or guessed. Gúthwyn wore so many masks that, sometimes, Éowyn wondered if what she herself thought was real was merely another façade.

Yet there was no indication of anything sinister beneath the surface of Gúthwyn's features; just that infuriatingly vague smile that suggested she was delighting in a private amusement. "If you will excuse me, sister," she said cheerfully, "there is a letter I must write."

Then she practically skipped out the door, leaving Éowyn to stare after her in astonishment.

* * *

><p>Gúthwyn hummed to herself as she strode down the hall to her own room, every step filled with a sense of purpose. For once in her life, <em>she<em> was going to help Éowyn—not the other way around. She had said nothing at the time, but the worn out expression in her older sister's eyes had frightened her. All the stress and burden of trying and failing to produce an heir was clearly affecting the White Lady, and Gúthwyn could only marvel that she had never detected it before.

As Éomund's youngest daughter entered her chambers, she resolved to focus all of her energy on the issue at hand. Éowyn had done enough for her; it was high time she returned the favor. She would not let her sister give up, not when possibility was still in the air. Although she knew next to nothing about dealing with infertility, she had a few ideas of her own—ones that had no logical merit, but that she persisted in believing all the same.

She was just sitting down at her desk when there was a knock on her door. "Who is it?" she called, hoping that Éowyn was not having second thoughts about allowing her to continue in her conspiracy.

"Cobryn," was the response, and Gúthwyn gladly let him in. "How was your dinner with Nestadan and his family?" he inquired once he had come inside, which seemed to be the purpose for his late-night visit.

Smiling at her friend's tendency to check up on her, Éomund's daughter answered, "It was wonderful. Nestadan and his wife, Nanaendis, are very kind. He has two adorable children, Galanhîr and Gilwen. Galanhîr is very inquisitive—when he opened the door and saw me standing there, the first thing he said was, 'Did you really get shot by an Orc?'"

Cobryn smirked. "I have seen him occasionally, tottering after Nestadan with heaps of bandages in his arms. His father never manages to get a word in, for he is always bombarding him with questions."

Gúthwyn giggled, delighted by such a scenario. It made her more determined than ever to help Éowyn, because her sister deserved the joys that a child could bring to her life. With that in mind, she tentatively put Legolas's name on the piece of parchment in front of her.

Noticing, Cobryn asked, "Whom are you writing to?"

"Legolas," Gúthwyn said hesitantly, unsure of whether she was supposed to address the Elf as 'Prince Legolas' or 'my lord' or something else equally formal. In the end she left his name alone, for she had never called him by his title and she was uncomfortable with 'my lord.'

Cobryn's eyebrows rose so much that they were in danger of disappearing beneath his hair. "Since when have you been corresponding with him?"

"Oh—" Gúthwyn blushed, realizing she had given Cobryn the wrong impression. "No, it is nothing like that. I just need his advice on a small matter."

"And what matter might this be?" Cobryn inquired, blunt as usual when it came to prying into her affairs.

Gúthwyn frowned. She hated lying to Cobryn, because he always succeeded in worming out of her either the full story or enough for him to guess the truth. "It involves Éowyn and Faramir," she relented somewhat, "but I promised to keep my silence."

She nearly groaned aloud when Cobryn settled himself into a chair. As he put his elbows on the armrests, interlaced his fingers, and eyed her thoughtfully, she resigned herself to an interrogation. "Why Legolas?" was his first question.

Gúthwyn debated quickly with herself and decided that she could at least satisfy his curiosity in that regard. "I am trying to find a place for Éowyn and Faramir to have a picnic," she said, wondering how she was going to phrase the request to Legolas. "I know there is a waterfall not too far from here, but perhaps Legolas might have discovered a more secluded location."

"Let me get this straight," Cobryn replied, slowly and disbelievingly. "You have suddenly gone from hating Faramir to arranging romantic excursions for him and your sister? In the time span of approximately one week?"

"I have my reasons," Gúthwyn answered stiffly, cringing as her friend implied what she was trying to ignore even as she facilitated its occurrence. "The two of them have not had time off together for months, and Éowyn is stressed about..." She trailed off, for otherwise she would reveal everything.

"Stressed about what?" Cobryn pressed, though he did not seem particularly curious; instead, he was examining Gúthwyn closely.

"Various circumstances," Éomund's daughter muttered evasively. "I told you, I can say nothing further."

"How long, may I ask, has your sister been 'stressed'?" Cobryn asked, shifting to a different tactic.

"For awhile," Gúthwyn replied softly, sighing as she looked at the blank letter before her. "I wish she had informed me earlier." Well did she empathize with Éowyn's predicament—yet though she herself had little chance of ever bearing children, at least the White Lady still could. Therefore, Gúthwyn was going to do everything in her power to help her older sister. It was the least she could do in return for all the support she had received over the years.

Cobryn cleared his throat. "Might this involve her difficulties in conceiving an heir?"

Gúthwyn's jaw dropped. "How did you—" she started to demand, and then stopped: words alone could not express her shock. She knew her friend was smart, but this was almost unbelievable.

A small grimace crossed her friend's features. "Aside from the fact that she has gone almost a decade without becoming pregnant, I happened to overhear a discussion between her and Faramir earlier this week when I sought out Faramir to ask if he had any additional book recommendations," he explained. "She was telling him that she had gotten her courses again, and he was trying to reassure her that everything would be all right." Gúthwyn swallowed as she thought of her sister so upset; she was not used to this, and it was not at all to her liking. "When I found out that your scheming involved sending the two of them on a day trip, which you seemed to think would improve Éowyn's 'mood,' I put two and two together."

"What do you mean, 'seemed to think'?" Gúthwyn inquired suspiciously.

Cobryn rolled his eyes. "Gúthwyn, you cannot seriously believe that yet another opportunity for Faramir to impregnate your sister will succeed when thus far a decade of such opportunities has failed."

"It might," Gúthwyn argued, flushing at the way her friend had described the activity. Eager to disprove him, she pointed out her theory. "Perhaps because Éowyn is worried so often, the stress is taking its toll on her body and making it difficult for her to conceive. Therefore, if I can arrange an outing that she will enjoy, it will—"

"If she is barren, all the happiness in the world will not help her," Cobryn cut her off. "There is nothing you can to do fix it."

"That is not true," Gúthwyn retorted, more determined than ever to do so. "She is not barren."

"Then what have the past ten years been?" Cobryn challenged her. "Why has she not gotten pregnant before, if she is capable of bearing children?"

"Maybe the time was not right," Gúthwyn suggested, refusing to accept that her sister would never have a son or a daughter.

"Gúthwyn, do you realize how foolish your position is?" Cobryn growled. "Do you have any idea how unlikely it is for someone, who clearly makes love to their husband as often as Éowyn does, to succeed after so many years without reward?"

"Does this mean that I, too, am barren?" Gúthwyn asked quietly.

Cobryn suddenly became very still, and for once words seemed to fail him.

"Haldor raped me every week of the three years I was in Mordor," Gúthwyn spoke, as calmly as she was able to with the blood pounding in her ears. "And every month, I thanked the Valar that I was not carrying his child. Was that a curse, then, instead of a blessing? Does the fact that I never became pregnant mean that I had no chance even before Haldor ruined me?"

"Is that why you are doing this?" Cobryn questioned softly. "Are you afraid that if your sister cannot conceive, then the same will befall you?"

Although Gúthwyn had, in fact, begun considering this the second she opened her mouth to refute Cobryn's argument, she shook her head and tried to ignore the mutinous thoughts. "This has nothing to do with me," she insisted. "I just want her to be happy. After all she has done for me, it is the least I can do."

"Gúthwyn, you are not going to accomplish anything with a picnic," Cobryn told her. "If you really want to help your sister, perhaps you should find someone in Minas Tirith who sells herbs that might assist her—although I daresay she has already tried that option."

"You do not understand," Éomund's daughter retorted. "I could see it in her eyes today: she is starting to lose all hope, and maybe that is affecting…" She flushed and looked away, knowing that Cobryn would fill in the blank. "I will not let her do this to herself; she deserves better. I just… Trying to make it easier for her is all I can do."

She could tell that Cobryn was backing off when the hardness in his gaze dissipated. He sighed, and appeared to resign himself to the cause. "Will you not tell Éowyn?" she pleaded. "She knows I am planning something, but not what."

"It would not be my place to discuss it with her," Cobryn assured her. His eyes soon darted to the barely-started letter on her desk, and he inquired, "Is this the first time you have written to Legolas?"

Gúthwyn nodded. "I know he is familiar with this area, so I thought he might be able to assist me."

"Are you finding his company easier to bear?" Cobryn asked, looking closely at her.

"I am," Gúthwyn assured him, flushing. She was uncomfortable discussing her tentative friendship with Legolas, for doing so conjured up a host of feelings that rattled her and left her more confused than ever. The process of separating him from Haldor was exhausting, and each time she saw him the struggle resumed on the battleground of her mind. Whenever Haldor's hold over her seemed to be giving way, something would happen to shatter her resolve. The Elf's fingers would flex again, until they were digging so deep into her that she choked. In all other aspects of her life, he was being defeated—yet here, with Legolas, he was still putting up a fight.

Cobryn sensed her uncertainty. "It used to be worse," he reminded her. "You no longer flinch when he looks at you."

This was true: now she blushed, namely because of the recent episode in which she had seen Legolas half-naked. Yet even without taking that embarrassing meeting into account, she knew that Cobryn was right—she had been growing steadily more accustomed to Legolas's presence in her life, and she was not afraid of him in the same way she had once been.

When Cobryn wished her luck and left the room, Gúthwyn set about composing her letter. She found that it was a difficult endeavor. Her education paled in comparison to Legolas's, and she did not want to come across as a poor correspondent. Then she realized that writing for the sole purpose of asking a favor from him was hardly polite, so she debated what to inquire about in regards to his own life—and whether she should say something about her own doings. After nearly two hours of fretting, as well as agonizing over word choice and spelling and grammar, she had a new carpet of crumpled-up drafts around her feet and one final, finished product.

_Legolas,_

_I hope this letter finds you well and in good spirits. I know that you must be busy, so I will not write too much. In truth, I have a small favor to ask of you, if you do not mind. It concerns my sister and her husband, who are in desperate need of a day off. Faramir has been quite busy lately with work, and I can tell that Éowyn is also worn out—not, of course, that she would ever admit to this._

_My intent is to arrange an outing for them as soon as the brunt of Faramir's duties have lessened, but Emyn Arnen is largely unknown to me and I am unfamiliar with the ideal locations for a picnic. Are there any places you have discovered that might be suitable for such an occasion, particularly those which Éowyn and Faramir may have overlooked?_

_Any help would be greatly appreciated, but it is quite all right if nothing comes to mind. In the meantime, I hope things at the colony are running smoothly—as well as your archery practices. Has anyone yet managed to best you?_

_Sincerely, Gúthwyn_

Despite all the effort that had gone into the exercise, Gúthwyn was still not pleased with the measly result. Not for the first or last time, she envied Cobryn for his writing ability. Perhaps there was something to be said for reading books, after all. However, what was before her was the best she could do. She cringed at the thought of Legolas receiving it and realizing the extent of her literary shortcomings.

With a sigh, she folded up the letter and reached for the wax to seal it. There was nothing she could do otherwise, not if she wanted to help Éowyn. She just hoped that Legolas would not think less of her because of her abysmal offering.

_Why do you care?_ a nagging voice surfaced long enough to ask her, but she dismissed it. Was it wrong for her to want to make a good impression on parchment, when her interactions with him hardly reflected well on her breeding?

Satisfactorily justified, she set the letter aside and began to create a list of things she would have to prepare for Éowyn and Faramir's outing. She tried very hard not to imagine what they would be doing, what they needed to do in order to have a child, but soon it became downright impossible to repress such thoughts. Her cheeks began to flame as she pictured Faramir being so intimate with her sister—and, worse, Éowyn enjoying it.

She could not understand what pleasure was to be derived from making love, but surely there had to be some reason Éowyn so willingly engaged in the activity. What was it, then? Did it not hurt for her, as it had with Éomund's youngest daughter? Were her legs not sore the morning after, aching with pain and humiliation? Did Faramir kiss her so that it would be more bearable?

Then, Borogor came to mind. At first Gúthwyn struggled to resist, for she knew she had to move on from the ghosts of her past—yet she could not help but wonder what it would have been like with him instead of Haldor. Borogor would never intentionally harm her; if she had married him and they had lain together, would he have tried to please her? How could he? The mere thought of his naked body covering hers, his bare legs between her own, was overwhelming.

But there were some things… some things she had enjoyed before Haldor turned into a nightmare. She remembered how she had moaned when the Elf kissed her, how she had not objected when he had pushed her on his back. How stupid she had been! Surrendering to someone she barely knew, all because of a foolish infatuation. Gúthwyn squirmed even more when she recalled her gasp of surprise and desire as Haldor had first slid his fingers beneath her leggings—and how everything had tumbled out of control when she pulled away for propriety's sake.

Yet what if Haldor had not raped her? What if he had never transformed into a monster, and instead he had respected her wishes and removed his hand? Would she have denied him a second time, perhaps a day or a week or a month later; or would she have permitted him, eager to recapture the blissful sensations he had aroused within her? Would she have allowed him to go even further afterwards?

Éomund's daughter was stunned to realize that she might have. So often did her memories take her back to that awful night—but not once had she considered how things would have turned out, had she been with someone who genuinely loved her and would have honored her boundaries. Someone like Borogor. Tun. Elphir. Any of the incredible, wonderful men she had been blessed to know throughout her life, men who would die for her without a second thought. Would she be so terrified of making love now, if her first time had been with one of them?

_But it was not with one of them,_ Gúthwyn reminded herself. _You cannot change the past. Haldor got to you before anyone else, and now you know what making love is really about: control._

She did not want to believe that. Her entire body had tingled with her first kiss; it still did, when she imagined Borogor in Haldor's place. Was that what Éowyn felt with Faramir, even beyond kissing? Did the White Lady's stomach swell with nervous, excited butterflies when her husband touched her, as Gúthwyn's once had in the arms of Haldor? Was lying with your lover, an act she associated with fear and revulsion, supposed to lift you off the ground and make you wish the moment could last forever?

Yet even if Éomund's youngest daughter had been wrong all along, a thought that was staggering and threatened to turn her entire life upside down, she could not forget what Haldor had done to her. So what if she might have delighted in making love, had she not been raped in Mordor? The fact was, those years had scarred her—and the marks were permanent. _I cannot ignore what happened,_ she thought, shivering.

_No,_ said a new, unfamiliar voice, _but you can overcome it._


	46. Gúthwyn's Master Scheme

**Chapter Forty-Six**

Legolas's response came back within two days. Gúthwyn was astonished by its alacrity, and at first she feared that he had not been able—or simply did not have the time—to help her. Instead, she unfolded the parchment to discover that not only was he aware of several locations that would suit her purpose, but that he had written detailed descriptions of each and provided quite thorough directions on how to get there.

His letter was far more eloquently-written than hers had been, and she wallowed in substantial insecurity as she read his inquiries after her health, her family, Cobryn, and the children. Her own questions about his personal life now seemed horribly inadequate in comparison. Briefly, she cursed her stubborn resistance to what was considered a 'proper' education. For once, she wished she had listened to Éomer when he had warned her about such things.

Finally, Gúthwyn decided she had nothing to worry about. Legolas still spoke to her, after all, did he not? He never showed signs of being anything less than glad to see her. If he thought her manners lacking, she had received no indicator of it. With that comforting self-assurance, she raced off to inform Cobryn of the locations she had received. It was decided that they would scout out the areas Legolas had described, and then determine which would best suit Gúthwyn's purpose; after, they could concentrate on final preparations.

Shortly thereafter, Éomund's daughter finally succeeded in convincing Nestadan to let her take up Framwine again.

"Just for a few minutes?" she pleaded one late summer morning, having encountered him in Éowyn's garden while he was looking for some herbs. The White Lady had given Nestadan permission to take whatever he wished whenever it was needed, and had in fact planted several species that had various healing properties for this purpose.

"No," Nestadan replied, chuckling.

"Why not?" Gúthwyn demanded, folding her arms across her chest. "This is getting ridiculous."

"Last I checked—which was last night—your shoulder still had a hole in it," Nestadan reminded her. "Any strenuous activity will only make things worse and impede your recovery."

"How about one minute?" Gúthwyn hedged desperately, feeling rather pathetic even as she asked.

Nestadan stopped mid-reach for an herb and raised an eyebrow at her. "My lady," he said pointedly, "you are not in any condition to exercise."

"How do you know I am not practicing in secret?" she could not resist retorting, even though in truth she had done no such thing. The treetops effectively blocked any starlight from entering the forest, and she could not venture out into such darkness alone at night.

"Are you?" Nestadan asked mildly, his expression never changing.

"I _could_ be," Gúthwyn muttered petulantly, purely for the sake of arguing.

"You are frighteningly similar to my son," Nestadan teased her. "The only difference is, he is seven years old and you are a grown woman!"

Gúthwyn blushed. She knew she was being childish, and it was rather embarrassing to be called out on stooping to Galanhîr's level; but on the other hand she very much missed being able to practice, and one could only walk around Emyn Arnen for so long without growing bored.

"So, when _will_ I be able to use a sword?" she was unable to stop herself from asking.

Nestadan laughed. "My lady, have you ever heard of the word 'patience'? It is a virtue you sorely lack."

"You are not the first person to tell me this," Éomund's daughter replied, smiling wryly.

"In the interest of our not having this conversation at least twice a day for the rest of the month," Nestadan said, grimacing as though he knew he would regret his words, "perhaps we can compromise. You may use the training grounds, _but_"—he added, holding up his hand in warning as Gúthwyn's eyes lit up—"only one hour every week and with your left arm in a sling."

Gúthwyn gasped in delight. "Thank you!" she cried, her mind already racing from the garden to her chambers. Framwine had been gathering dust there for weeks; she resolved to start practicing immediately.

Nestadan groaned at the look on her face. "What have I done?" he muttered to himself.

"Again, thank you!" Gúthwyn exclaimed, raising her voice over any doubts that might have been forming in his mind. Without warning, she gave him a one-armed hug and dashed off, leaving the healer to stare after her in astonishment and marvel at the peculiar creature that was Princess Éowyn's sister.

"Thank you for humoring me," Gúthwyn said to Cobryn half an hour later as they trekked through the woods on their way to the training grounds. It was now noon, and Éomund's daughter hoped that they would find their destination relatively empty. "I appreciate you tearing yourself from your studies for the time being."

Cobryn rolled his eyes. "You hardly gave me much of a choice in the matter," he replied dryly. "I daresay you would have pestered me for the rest of the day if I had not given in when I did."

"You could have refused," Gúthwyn retorted, making a face at her friend.

"Not if I wanted to preserve my eardrums," Cobryn muttered. "You clearly succeeded in wearing Nestadan down."

Gúthwyn glowed with pleasure, her grip on Framwine tightening. "I did," she confirmed happily as they emerged into the clearing. "I only wish I had managed to do it earlier!

"I want to look at your sling before we start," Cobryn told her warningly. "I would rather you not injure yourself again."

Éomund's daughter sighed at what she inwardly referred to as his mothering her, but nevertheless she obediently came to a halt just inside the training grounds. While Cobryn examined her sling, checking for looseness or other defects, she in turn surveyed the premises. She was relieved to see only a small group of warriors exercising, men who were too young to have been Rangers for long. There was no danger of any of them recognizing her.

As soon as Cobryn pronounced her sling to be appropriately constricting, Gúthwyn unsheathed Framwine and gave the blade a few experimental swings. The return of the familiar movements was wonderful; she marveled to herself that she had lasted so long in a state of idleness.

"We appear to have an audience," Cobryn informed her quietly, nodding discreetly in the direction of the Rangers.

Gúthwyn glanced over in time to see one of the warriors nudging the others, alerting his companions to the visitors' presence. "You would think they would not be so unused to the sight of a woman with a sword," she mused, until she remembered: Éowyn had renounced the ways of a shieldmaiden after the War of the Ring, and no longer sought glory on the field.

"Perhaps, but a woman and a cripple?" Cobryn countered, irreverently discarding his cane upon the ground. "Such a match is hardly conventional."

"I will try not to defeat you so thoroughly that you lose face in front of them," Gúthwyn said teasingly, aiming a jesting strike at him.

Cobryn effortlessly parried the hit. "I would not be so confident if I were you," he retorted; and from there their blades were a whirlwind of metal. Although Cobryn's leg forced them to mostly remain in place, Gúthwyn enjoyed the challenge these limitations presented. Her right arm was certainly being taxed a lot more than usual.

"Well done," Cobryn complimented Éomund's daughter after she executed a particularly complicated maneuver in order to avoid one of his jabs. "You have come a long way." She knew he meant to add _since our days in Isengard_, but both of them avoided speaking of that time whenever possible.

Thanking him, she replied, "As have you. I daresay I have surpassed the swordsman you were when you first taught me, but now you are still making me work for victory!" Indeed, she was finding it quite difficult to defeat him: whenever she spotted an opening in his guard, his quick reflexes prevented her from taking advantage of it.

"That is what tends to happen when you spend your years instructing others how to use a sword," Cobryn remarked, alluding to the group of boys he had taught in Edoras at Éomer's request. "You point out mistakes so often that you become acutely aware of any that you yourself might make, and as such tend to vastly improve your own technique."

Gúthwyn was about to say something in response when two Rangers entered the clearing, each carrying an unsheathed sword and clearly ready to practice. They stopped short when they saw Éomund's daughter and her companion; and, too late, Gúthwyn realized that she recognized both of them.

One was the arrogant man whose insults towards the Eorlingas had prompted her to challenge Faramir to a duel some years ago, which had culminated in a disastrous triumph on her part. The other was a Ranger whose face she had last seen gaping at her from the folds of his cloak, watching as she begged Faramir to bury Borogor. None of their names came to mind; she had never learned them. Yet they knew hers, and it was safe to say that neither of their experiences with her had been positive.

The first to recover was the one who had slighted her people. Just as she had not forgiven him, he had not forgotten what she had done to Faramir—and his glare was a sharp indicator of that. "If I were you, my friend," he said to Cobryn, "I would choose your sparring partners more carefully. You might otherwise find yourself in danger of being injured (or worse), given that knowing when to stop seems to be one of your lady's shortcomings."

"Celedan," the other Ranger said warningly.

"I will take my chances," Cobryn answered coolly, his gaze narrowing at Celedan. Gúthwyn could tell that her friend was burning to speak more in her defense—or perhaps attack Celedan's behavior—but he chose instead the course of discretion. Gúthwyn, however, had no such inhibitions.

"If I were _you_, 'my friend,'" she told Celedan angrily, "I would choose your words more carefully. I am not as hard of hearing as you seem to think I am."

Celedan took a step forward, but almost immediately his friend grabbed him by the shoulder. "Come," he said forcefully, pulling Celedan back. "Leave them in peace," he insisted, his eyes all the while averted from Éomund's daughter. "We came here to exchange blows, not barbs."

"As you wish, Mablung," Celedan gritted through his teeth with forced courtesy. He allowed himself to be steered away, with Mablung casting an apologetic glance at Gúthwyn over his shoulder. Gúthwyn let out a breath that she had not been aware she was holding; Celedan's aggression had rattled her more than she would ever own up to.

"What was that about?" Cobryn demanded the instant the Rangers were out of earshot.

Gúthwyn filled him in, ending with a heavy sigh. "That is why I asked you to come with me," she admitted, "rather than venture out here on my own. Those of Faramir's men who do not remember me from the War of the Ring all hate me because I lost control while I was fighting with their lord. I do not expect any of them shall wish to befriend me."

"I would not say that," Cobryn replied confidently, nodding in the direction of the Rangers who had been training since their arrival. "The younger ones seem to be quite interested in you."

"What do you mean?" Gúthwyn asked, confused. She snuck a look at the men, noticing that they were still watching her and Cobryn—although they hid it very well, and for all appearances were intently sparring with each other.

"When we were closer to them," Cobryn answered, referring to a brief moment in their skirmish when Gúthwyn had pushed him back a few yards before he had turned the tables on her, "I overheard one of them telling the others that you were every bit as beautiful as Éowyn."

"Now I know you are lying," Gúthwyn said, even as her cheeks turned scarlet. "Only a blind man would say that."

Cobryn cocked an eyebrow. "Am I?" he inquired. "Your lack of self-esteem precludes you from seeing it, but there is a reason so many men have asked for your hand in marriage—and it is not just your personality, for I daresay you would be the very worst of traditional wives."

Gúthwyn stared at Cobryn, nonplussed. Then she looked down at herself, and examined what everyone she interacted with saw: a small, diminutive woman with no figure to speak of and rather bony knees. "What are you talking about?" she demanded, nothing short of bewildered.

"If you were anyone else, I might accuse you of fishing for compliments," Cobryn commented with a chuckle. "But since you are clueless as always, I shall do you a favor and inform you that you are far from being as unattractive as you may think you are. Small wonder you have received so many offers."

"But I am flat-chested!" Gúthwyn protested, too surprised to be embarrassed by the words tumbling out of her mouth.

"Voluptuousness is not the only thing a man searches for in a partner, nor do all prefer it," Cobryn pointed out, laughing at her candor. "Really, Gúthwyn—anyone you wedded would have considered themselves the luckiest man in Middle-earth, if they had had the fortitude to endure your willfulness. Then again, you have decided to abstain from marriage, so this entire conversation is rather moot."

Gúthwyn nodded, though inwardly she grimaced. For some reason, it irritated her that Cobryn had dismissed the matter so abruptly. How was she supposed to determine her feelings about finding a husband when it was automatically assumed that she would never seek one out in the first place?

_Well, what else do you expect Cobryn to believe?_ she chastised herself. _You have only been refusing to marry for the past decade!_

_And I still would_, she assured herself, retreating into the safe haven of remaining single for the rest of her life. Thinking about marriage in a slightly more open light was not the same as seriously considering it, and she clung to the distinction between the two.

"What is it?" Cobryn asked, noticing her sudden withdrawal.

"Nothing," Gúthwyn immediately replied, hefting Framwine into the air. "Come, let us see if I can defeat you once and for all."

"As if," was Cobryn's prompt retort.

* * *

><p>For the rest of the week, Gúthwyn spent her time preparing for Éowyn and Faramir's outing. She and Cobryn whittled away many an afternoon by visiting the locations Legolas had mentioned in his letter. While some were nearby and fairly easy to get to, others were at quite some distance and so obscure as to almost be hidden. In the end, they narrowed down the options to a small dell about two hours away. Though it was a sizable trek, the foliage alongside the path was a splendid sight and sure to make the journey enjoyable. Another advantage of the clearing was that it contained a lovely little lake beside a stretch of green lawn, which would provide the perfect setting for a picnic.<p>

The remaining steps required expanding the conspiracy to include new members. Gúthwyn first spoke to Beregond, the captain of Faramir's guard, to ensure that such an excursion would not be potentially exposing the Steward and his wife to any danger. Beregond agreed to permit the outing, although he insisted on accompanying the couple. He promised that he would not intrude; he would patrol the parameter of the area, in order to thwart any threat that might encroach upon the royal family.

Gúthwyn then acquainted herself with the cook in Faramir's home, and together the two of them planned a meal that was suitable for a picnic—not to mention easily transportable. Afterwards she sought out Mablung, whom she knew was part of Faramir's council; and though their discussion was incredibly uncomfortable, she got him to promise that none of Faramir's advisors would give him work to do on the particular day she had designated.

Everything went off without a hitch, and at last the morning came when Gúthwyn was to be found knocking on the door to Faramir's study. This was the part she was most dreading about the exercise, but she steeled herself to do it for Éowyn's sake.

"Come in," Faramir called as soon as she had banged her fist against the door.

Gúthwyn stepped inside, though out of trepidation she did not go much further than the threshold. She was, after all, intruding on him. Faramir's eyes widened to see that she was his visitor: not once had she gone out of her way to talk to him since her arrival in Ithilien, though she was doing her best to be civil to him in light of being shown Borogor's grave.

"My lord," she said with a small curtsy, swallowing. Even from this distance, she could see how weary the Steward looked. According to Éowyn, he had not come to bed before the early hours of the morning for nigh a week—such was his determination to produce a fully satisfying report for King Elessar.

"My lady," Faramir answered, his voice equally stiff and formal. Although he busied himself in setting aside a few papers and adjusting himself in his chair, he could not conceal his curiosity for long. "What has brought you here?"

"There is something I wish to discuss with you," she announced, twisting her fingers as she spoke. "Could we meet in the stables five minutes from now?"

"Would it not be easier to converse here?" Faramir inquired, knitting his brow.

Gúthwyn shook her head. "Please," she quietly added.

To his credit, Faramir did not question her further. "Of course," he agreed, struggling to mask his confusion.

Gúthwyn, in turn, hid the relieved smile that sought to betray her secret. Without another word she hurried away, praying she would reach the stables before Éowyn—whom she had cornered earlier and also requested an audience with—arrived and saw all the provisions that Éomund's youngest daughter had stored in her own stall that morning.

Luckily, when she came to her destination Éowyn was nowhere in sight. Only Beregond was there, waiting outside and inclining his head at Gúthwyn when she approached. He appeared not to know whether to treat the situation seriously, because of the involvement of the princess's sister, or as a lark.

"They are on their way," she informed him. He bowed before disappearing behind the stables and out of sight: his clothes would mark him as someone about to go for a ride, and if his lord or lady noticed they might ask questions. Éomund's daughter watched him go, pleased with herself for having thought of this detail.

Humming in anticipation, Gúthwyn slipped into the stables and, after affectionately stroking Sceoh's mane, double-checked to make sure that everything was ready. Once content that nothing was out of order, she occupied herself by giving Sceoh a thorough grooming. The activity would also provide her with an excuse to delay speaking, should Éowyn or Faramir come before the other.

However, this ploy proved to be unnecessary. The White Lady and the Steward of Gondor both entered the stables at the same time, and, from the bewildered expressions on their faces, she deduced that they had both compared with each other their motives for such an expedition.

"You wished to speak to us?" Éowyn inquired, glancing at Gúthwyn in puzzlement. "Why the secrecy, sister?"

In response, Gúthwyn bent down and picked up the two picnic baskets. One contained very liberal quantities of wine, and the other had been filled to the brim with all sorts of sumptuous foods. Exiting the stall, she marched over to Éowyn and Faramir and deposited her offerings in their hands. "I _told_ you I was planning something," she addressed Éowyn, raising an eyebrow. "You did not think I had let the matter go, did you?"

"What are you—oh!" Éowyn cried, stunned. "Gúthwyn, you should not have—"

"What is all this for?" Faramir inquired, having not the slightest idea what either of them were talking about. He peeked inside his basket, looking taken aback when he discovered the containers of wine. "I am sorry," he apologized to Gúthwyn, appearing genuinely remorseful, "but I cannot accompany the two of you on this picnic—I am expecting a report from one of my men—"  
>"First," Gúthwyn interrupted him in a no-nonsense tone, "I am not going with you. Only Beregond is, to escort you and Éowyn to the place Cobryn and I picked out a week ago. Second, I have already spoken to Mablung and told him and your other councilors not to bother you with any paperwork today. Third, your cook will be most disappointed if all the work he has put into your picnic goes to waste. I believe that takes care of everything?"<p>

Faramir gazed at her in utter stupefaction, perhaps even in slight horror. "How did you—?"

"Determination," Gúthwyn replied cheerfully, barely holding back her laughter at his and Éowyn's astonishment. "Now, unless you have any other objections you would like to make, your horses and the captain of your guard are waiting. If I see either of you back here before dinner, I will be sorely displeased."

She stared haughtily at the couple, challenging them to protest. When they glanced at each other and tightened their holds on their picnic baskets, she smirked and began to leave the stables.

"Gúthwyn—" Éowyn called when she had almost reached the door.

"Thank me later," Éomund's youngest daughter tossed over her shoulder. Not once did she look behind her, despite the temptation to. Grinning in accomplishment and rather proud of herself for having pulled her grand scheme off, she skipped all the way back to the dwelling.

"How did it go?" Cobryn, who had been waiting for her all this time, inquired when she burst inside the entrance hall. His eyes took in her flushed cheeks and bubbling demeanor, drawing a smile to his own features. "Successfully, I presume?"

"Indeed," Gúthwyn responded happily. "So far." She had not forgotten the true purpose of her conniving.

"Do not get your expectations up," Cobryn cautioned her, his features darkening as he caught the meaning of her words. "Like as not, nothing will come out of today."

"Then it is a good thing I am not like you," Gúthwyn retorted, refusing to let him dampen her spirits, "for otherwise that might be true."

Indeed, in that moment something stirred inside of her: hope. She felt its presence, rejoiced in the warmth it provided her. Without a doubt, she knew that—if not today, then soon—Éowyn would be carrying a child. Certainty flooded every bone in her body, until all she could think of was her future niece or nephew. _The heir of Ithilien,_ she thought, relishing in the title.

Brimming with happiness, she sent a prayer up to the Valar. _Please, let me be right,_ she begged. _Give Éowyn the son or daughter she deserves._

And, for once, the Valar listened.


	47. Long Awaited Success

**Chapter Forty-Seven**

Two months later found Éomund's youngest daughter in possession of two very different letters, each of which provoked sharply contrasting emotions within her. The first was from Éomer, filling her in on all that was happening in Rohan during her absence. Even more than the anecdotes about her friends and acquaintances, what brought her the most joy was the small note from Elfwine—painstakingly written, every letter shaky and most attempted several times—that her brother had enclosed.

_AUNTIE GÚTHWYN I MISS YOU,_ she was able to decipher. _I PLAYED TAG WITH _(she assumed the ensuing jumble of letters was meant to say "Onyveth," for there was an "O" followed by an uncertain scribble that suggested the spelling was quite beyond Elfwine's capabilities) _TODAY. I WANT YOU TO COME BACK I LOVE YOU ELFWINE._

Upon reading the note, Gúthwyn made a soft noise of adoration and clutched the parchment to her heart. She thought of Elfwine hunched over his letter, the little tip of his tongue poking from his mouth as he labored to write to her, and nearly melted. A sigh echoed in her empty room; did Éomer know how lucky he was?

Then she sobered, for Éomer's life was no longer as blessed as it had once been. His marriage was in ruins, his home torn apart by the rivalry between his wife and younger sister. Gúthwyn had no idea if Éomer and Lothíriel had begun to reconcile, for her brother's correspondence made no mention of the queen—but she feared that Éomer's endurance when it came to holding grudges was not helping matters.

_There must be something I can do,_ she thought, pondering. _Anything, at the very least, even though we are so far from each other._ In spite of what Lothíriel had done to her, Gúthwyn knew that her nephew's relationship with his mother was more important than any pain she herself had endured. She wanted so desperately for Éomer and Elfwine to be happy again; but how? What could she do that would help to mend the rift in her brother's family?

Although she racked her mind quite thoroughly for several minutes, at present her efforts were fruitless. Temporarily resigning herself to helplessness, Éomund's daughter took up the next letter. It had been addressed to Éowyn, but her sister had pressed it into her hand and asked her to read it. Gúthwyn's heart had raced when she recognized the strong, yet elegant handwriting: it was from Legolas.

Nervously she opened it, wondering why Éowyn had given it to her. Taking a deep breath to prepare herself, she read:

_Greetings to Princess Éowyn, from Legolas Thranduilion:_

_I pray that the hour in which you receive this finds you well and in good spirits. Your last letter was a delight unlooked for, as well as the seed packets you generously enclosed. A thousand thanks for your kindness. Come spring, they shall be planted in the gardens where all can look upon them._

_Since you indicated in your correspondence that Faramir's duties are no longer as taxing as they have been of late, I would like to take the opportunity to invite you and your family (as well as Hammel, Haiweth, and Cobryn) to spend a week in the colony at your earliest convenience. I request the pleasure of your company from you, and not your husband, because I hope you will discuss this with Lady Gúthwyn before sending your reply. I know she is ill at ease around my people, and I would not wish discomfort upon her for my sake._

_If your sister desires, accommodations can easily be made for her and the children to be housed away from the main part of my home, where she is less likely to be disturbed. The rooms, alas, look to the east, but they are surrounded by beautiful gardens—for which I must thank you again, as most of the plants were gifts from you—and they are also quite close to the training grounds._

_Should Lady Gúthwyn be amenable to the trip, and your schedule to permit the excursion, send word to me and I shall make all due preparations. In the meantime, I pray that everything is well in Emyn Arnen—and that Faramir is not wearing himself out too much with his duties!_

_Your humble servant, Legolas._

Lowering the letter to her desk, Gúthwyn slowly inhaled and exhaled to clear her mind before she deliberated the matter of a visit to Legolas's colony. Clearly, Éowyn was leaving the decision up to her; she would have to weigh the pros and cons of accepting such a potentially dangerous invitation.

_Save Raniean, none of Legolas's friends wish you harm_, she reminded herself. _They would never hurt you._

These reassurances, however, did nothing to stop the hammering of her heart. Traveling to the colony and willfully surrounding herself with Elves was like venturing deep into enemy territory, into a world where safety was no guarantee and the nightmares had mastery.

At least, that was the fear that part of her clung to. Another side of her was curious, interested in seeing a place she had heard about for years but had never actually gone to. If Emyn Arnen was so beautiful, surely Legolas's colony—which Éowyn claimed was by far superior—was stunning. So what if there were Elves there? She did not have to interact with them. She could spend all her time with Éowyn and Cobryn, and excepting meals not have to converse with any immortals.

Such reasoning placated her, although it could not entirely overcome the trepidation she felt when she contemplated taking Legolas up on his offer. What if being surrounded by the Elves was a constant reminder of Haldor, whose hold on her thoughts had only just started to loosen?

_Coward_, she cursed herself. _You are not fit to be a member of the House of Eorl! A week's stay in an Elven colony is nothing to be afraid of—you were in Rivendell and Lothlórien for far longer, when your terror of that race was far greater!_

Properly ashamed, she took out a slip of parchment from her desk and, before she could change her mind, scribbled a note to Éowyn. It was short, and said only, _I have no objections._ She would leave it on her sister's desk, because the White Lady was currently having a picnic with her husband. Éowyn had invited her along, but Gúthwyn had declined on two accounts: her desire to give the couple some time alone, and her wish to avoid what she knew would be an awkward at best interaction with Faramir.

Actually, she was quite glad that Éowyn had gone on this particular outing. For the past couple of weeks, the White Lady had been rather ill. Gúthwyn's daily routine now included a trip to Nestadan's home to obtain various remedies for headaches, fatigue, and nausea; the healer theorized that Éowyn had caught the bad end of a mild cold that had been plaguing many of Emyn Arnen's citizens, and he was treating her accordingly. Knowing fully well what it was like to be sick, Gúthwyn had undertaken her delivery duties without complaint—even when her sister, undoubtedly frustrated by her condition, had lost her temper and snapped at Éomund's youngest daughter over minor issues.

Fully aware that she would lose her nerve if she did not return Legolas's letter soon, Gúthwyn rose to her feet and left her room. She walked quickly to Éowyn's chambers, clutching the papers in her hand as if she could stiffen her resolve by doing so. Slipping inside her sister's quarters, she went immediately to the White Lady's desk and, after a long hesitation, lowered the parchment to its surface.

As she did this, she noticed a letter that Éowyn had begun to Éomer. Gúthwyn instinctively started to read it, hardly considering it snooping—after all, Éomer was her brother, too. She assumed that she would only find trivial news of Ithilien, various inquiries about the affairs of Rohan, and perhaps answers to any questions Éomer might have posed in his last correspondence.

Gúthwyn smiled when she noticed a paragraph dedicated to her own shoulder, which had greatly healed and now only bore a rather grotesque scab on each side. _Our baby sister has wrangled the healer into letting her use the training grounds two hours a day, and if it were not for him putting his foot down she would have convinced him to let her start wielding her sword with her left hand! I pity the poor man—she has been pestering him incessantly about a full return to her normal practice schedule, though he appears to have an unlimited amount of patience._

_Other than her usual tendency to push herself too far, too soon, she seems to be faring quite well. Cobryn informs me that she has not had a nightmare in months, and her eating habits—with the exception of her aversion to meat, which I see no need to attempt to change—are almost perfectly normal. Ever since she has relieved herself of the burden of keeping Borogor's death a secret, she grieves less and smiles more._

Éomer's response to the letter Gúthwyn had sent him, informing him of her reasons for being so opposed to marriage and the truth behind her dislike for Faramir, had been shocked. He had apologized repeatedly for forcing her to endure talk of marriage for so long, yet had been equally fervent in expressing his wish that she would have only told him sooner. Although she had divulged to him that she had loved someone before, he wrote, he had never realized the depth of her feelings and had attributed her reluctance to wedding another to her fears of Haldor, rather than the mysterious man in her past.

Gúthwyn wished she had not caused her brother such distress, but she could not regret it when the action had removed such a weight from her shoulders. Praying that she had not grieved Éomer too much, she continued reading Éowyn's letter.

_She even spoke pleasantly to Faramir the other day, when she thanked him for having the cook prepare her favorite dish. I cannot tell you how much of a relief it is for the two of them to be on cordial terms._

_In regards to the Legolas issue, she—_

There was nothing else on the parchment; evidently, Éowyn had yet to finish. Gúthwyn found herself curious as to what her older sister had intended to say about Legolas. She hoped Éomer no longer believed that there was aught between her and the Elf—that was the last thing she needed her siblings to be discussing. A small shudder rippled through her spine.

Just then, she heard footsteps close to the door. Realizing guiltily that perhaps she should not have been looking through Éowyn's correspondence (which, although addressed to Éomer, was technically none of her business), Gúthwyn stepped back and turned around just in time to see her sister enter the room.

"Were you looking for me?" Éowyn asked in confusion, upon noticing Éomund's youngest daughter. "I just got back from the picnic—"

"I was bringing this to you," Gúthwyn explained, picking up Legolas's letter and showing it to Éowyn. "I-I would not mind visiting him," she added tentatively, relieved that her resolve did not waver as she spoke.

"Are you certain of this?" Éowyn questioned, looking closely at Gúthwyn.

"Y-Yes, I am," Gúthwyn insisted, coloring under her older sister's scrutiny. "How was your picnic?"

Now it was Éowyn whose cheeks were red, though not from embarrassment—it took Gúthwyn a moment to place it, but there was a rosier tint to them than usual. She swallowed, guessing as to why there was such a glow upon the White Lady's face. Again, her revulsion was accompanied by bewilderment: what could Éowyn possibly find enjoyable about making love? Why would she let Faramir have so much power over her?

_Éowyn does not see it that way,_ she reminded herself. _Éowyn said that she and Faramir only lie together when they _both _want to, not just him._

But why would Éowyn ever desire such a thing?

"It was wonderful," the White Lady spoke then, jolting Gúthwyn out of her tormented thoughts. "I only wish you could have been there to see Faramir's expression when I told him the news."

"What news?" Gúthwyn inquired, her mind immediately leaping to Legolas's letter. Surely an invitation to visit the Elven colony was not so out of the ordinary?

Yet something told her that travel plans were not the reason a broad grin was spreading across Éowyn's face. "Sister," Éowyn began, now hardly able to speak through her smile, "I am with child!"

For an instant, the room was so quiet that one would have heard a needle drop. Then, Éomund's youngest daughter let out an ear-splitting shriek. "_Éowyn!_" she cried, all but launching herself at the White Lady. "_Congratulations!_" She engulfed her sister in a close embrace, knocking the other woman slightly backward as she hugged her tightly.

The next second, however, Gúthwyn leapt away in horror. "I-I am so sorry!" she moaned, for an terrible moment believing she had harmed the child in her sister's womb. "I-Is it okay? Did I—did I hurt the baby?"

"Gúthwyn, really." Éowyn chuckled, her mirth only partially reassuring. "I am—we are—perfectly fine. By the Valar, I cannot believe…" She could scarcely continue for joy. "I thought this day would never come," she finally murmured.

"How far along are you?" Gúthwyn immediately demanded, bursting with questions. "Do you know what you are going to name him or her? Would you rather a boy, or a girl? What did Faramir say when you informed him? Is there anything I can do to help? Am I allowed to tell Cobryn?"

"One at a time!" Éowyn protested laughingly, her smile as radiant as her golden hair. "I am two months pregnant," she answered, beaming. "Faramir and I have not thought of a name yet, and I have no preference as long as the child is healthy. Faramir was thrilled to find out, as you can imagine. I am certain there will be plenty for you to assist me with in the upcoming months, and of course you are allowed to tell Cobryn."

"Tell me what?"

The two siblings turned around to see Cobryn leaning against the doorframe, raising an eyebrow at them. "I heard Gúthwyn screaming," he said by way of explanation. "I figured I should investigate."

Gúthwyn tossed her friend a smug look. "Éowyn has important news," she announced proudly.

"I am with child," Éowyn declared again, her cheeks now positively flaming.

Although Gúthwyn knew Cobryn had to be stunned, he concealed his shock quite well and was all smiles as he congratulated Éowyn on her pregnancy. Like Éomund's youngest daughter, his first inquiry was, "How far along are you?"

"Two months," Éowyn replied promptly, proudly.

Cobryn's eyes darted to Gúthwyn, then back to Éowyn as he expressed his hopes for a healthy child. "Faramir must be delighted," he remarked.

"Indeed, he is," Éowyn confirmed, blushing. "He has gone to tell Nestadan the news already."

"When are you going to announce this to the rest of the populace?" Cobryn inquired, ever interested in the political matters.

"Some evening this week, we will have a feast," Éowyn answered happily. "Until then, I must ask both of you to keep this to yourselves—not that I believe I have to worry with you two."

"Of course not!" Gúthwyn immediately assured her sister. "I swear to you, I will not breathe a word to anyone."

"Nor I," Cobryn agreed.

"Thank you," Éowyn replied, still speaking through a broad grin. "By the Valar, there is so much Faramir and I need to do to prepare: a crib must be made, and clothes for the baby as well—"

"Not to mention some for yourself," Gúthwyn could not resist teasing her.

Éowyn rolled her eyes. "Then there is the small matter of the name," she added, looking pensive. "I have never given it much thought…"

"What about naming the child after someone?" Gúthwyn suggested, having Théodred in mind. She wistfully reflected that if she herself were to give birth to a boy, her beloved cousin's name would be her first choice.

Yet Éowyn was shaking her head. "I would rather it be unique," she explained.

"Well, there will be plenty of opportunities to decide upon something—several months' worth, in fact," Cobryn told her.

"Of course," Éowyn agreed. "I should finish my letter to Éomer; it is about time he had a niece or a nephew!"

_Yes, it is,_ Gúthwyn mused to herself. Expecting the flare of jealousy over Éowyn's good fortune did not make it easier to bear; now she found herself wishing that Éomer would become an uncle on _her_ account. Yet with some difficulty, she was able to force the bile of envy back down her throat: Éowyn deserved no less. Indeed, Éowyn had struggled far more to conceive a child than Éomund's youngest daughter, who could not even endure the necessary act—therefore, Gúthwyn had no right to covet her older sister's success.

Resolving to never again resent the blessing that had been given to Éowyn, Gúthwyn congratulated the White Lady again as she bid farewell and left her to composing Éomer's letter. In fact, she even managed a triumphant smile when she and Cobryn exited the room: "I _told_ you Éowyn would become pregnant!" she crowed, going so far as to make a face at him. "And to think that _you_ did not believe me."

Cobryn rolled his eyes. "I have no idea how you ended up being right—for once," he commented, "but for your sister's sake I am glad you were."

Gúthwyn beamed. "I am incredibly happy for her," she declared as they began walking down the hall. "I cannot wait to be an aunt again!"

With a wry grin, Cobryn said, "Let us just pray that this one does not like you more than his or her own mother."

"Cobryn!" Gúthwyn exclaimed, hitting him on the arm. "Of course that will not happen. Éowyn shall be a far better parent than Lothíriel has been. Her child will adore her!"

There it was again: that sharp pang of jealousy. Trying desperately to ignore it, Gúthwyn glanced at Cobryn and hoped that he had not noticed the sudden downturn of her mood. Yet, for once, he had not caught the shift—he was staring intently at the walls, as if finding the woodwork fascinating. Gúthwyn's heart clenched as she remembered that he, too, had reason to envy Éowyn.

"Come," she said suddenly, wanting to distract both of them from their silent suffering. "Let us go to the training grounds. Your parrying was abysmal the last time we were there."

"Abysmal enough to get past your guard and knock you off your feet?" Cobryn immediately questioned, his expression clearing.

"Please," Gúthwyn scoffed, choosing to feign ignorance. "I must have hit you too hard on the head when _I_ got past _your_ guard and decapitated you."

"Have you been receiving enough sleep lately?" Cobryn inquired in mock concern. "You seem to be confusing your dreams with actual occurrences."

Gúthwyn was not quick enough to come up with a snappy retort, so she settled for elbowing him in the gut. He shoved her back good-naturedly, his larger mass easily throwing her smaller frame off-balance. She tripped over her own feet and landed solidly on her bottom, glaring up at her friend as he burst into laughter.

"A thousand thanks," she grumbled, pointedly standing without the assistance he offered.

"Now, really."

Nestadan's bemused voice caused them to both turn around guiltily, as if they were little children who had just been caught sneaking food out of the kitchen. Faramir must have already informed the healer of Éowyn's pregnancy; he had his usual pack of herbs with him, and Gúthwyn assumed he was about to prescribe the White Lady various concoctions that would help her over the next seven months.

"Cobryn, I must say I believed you less inclined to these antics than Lady Gúthwyn," Nestadan teased the other man. "Or are her manners contagious?"

"Just atrocious," Cobryn responded with a smirk.

Éomund's daughter rolled her eyes and began stalking down the corridor again. "Gúthwyn, where are you going?" Cobryn asked her, still chuckling.

"To a place where I can enjoy the fact that, for once, I was right and you were wrong—in peace," Gúthwyn tossed over her shoulder, not looking back.

"Savor that rare moment well," was Cobryn's retort.


	48. Journey to the Colony

**Chapter Forty-Eight**

"Are you sure you do not wish to come?" Gúthwyn asked Hammel on the morning of the day she, Éowyn, and Faramir were set to depart for Legolas's colony.

Hammel nodded silently, a dark look in his eyes suggesting that he resented her for merely inquiring. Gúthwyn had not expected him to change his mind, but she still felt uncomfortable leaving the children—even if it were only for a week. "Haiweth?" she questioned, turning towards the girl. "What about you?"

Haiweth shook her head immediately. "No, thank you," she mumbled, not meeting Gúthwyn's concerned gaze. Éomund's daughter knew better than to press: when Haiweth was ready, she would acquiesce.

"Then it is farewell for now," Gúthwyn said softly, leaning forward and enveloping Haiweth in a warm embrace. Haiweth returned the hug, looking upset to see her go.

"I will have nothing to do with you and Éowyn gone," the girl complained, rather than address what was disturbing her. "Hammel and Cobryn will only _read_ while you are away!" Behind her, Hammel rolled his eyes and walked back towards Éowyn and Faramir's home.

"Perhaps it would be a good time to work on your drawings, then," Gúthwyn suggested, offering a smile to cover up her nervousness. "Will you make something for me?"

"What?" Haiweth wanted to know.

"Surprise me," Gúthwyn decided. "Anything you desire."

Haiweth promised to do her best. After one last goodbye, she joined Hammel on the stairs leading into Éowyn and Faramir's dwelling. Gúthwyn watched her leave, suppressing another round of misgivings at the thought of spending so much time away from the children.

"They will be quite safe in your absence," Cobryn muttered, materializing by her side.

"Was I being that obvious?" Gúthwyn asked with a sigh.

"You did an excellent job concealing it, but unfortunately I know you too well to be fooled," was Cobryn's response. "I will not let anything happen to them, I promise."

Gúthwyn gave a small smile, not entirely convinced—trustworthy though Cobryn was. "Maybe I should not have agreed to go on this trip," she fretted.

Cobryn glanced at her, raising his eyebrows. "Are you worried about the children, or yourself?" he asked quietly.

"I am fine," Gúthwyn insisted, ignoring the nagging voice in her mind that told her Cobryn was right.

With a disbelieving look, Cobryn reminded her, "Legolas would never do anything to hurt you."

"I know," Gúthwyn whispered, shivering in spite of herself.

"You will also be with Éowyn and Faramir the entire time—even if the latter is hardly your favorite person on Middle-earth," Cobryn continued. "You have nothing to fear."

"I know," Gúthwyn repeated softly. Cobryn may have been right… but that did not stop the tremors of fear from running through her spine.

"Are you sure you wish to go?" her friend interrogated her.

Gúthwyn opened her mouth to respond, even then uncertain of what she would say, but at that moment her name was called.

"Are you ready?" inquired Éowyn, who had already mounted her horse. Faramir was beside her; every now and then the two of them would exchange a smile, and their eyes would then linger on the stomach that had not yet started to expand. To say the Steward of Gondor was excited about the imminent addition to his family was an enormous understatement—Éomund's youngest daughter barely recognized the grinning father-to-be from the man who had once been so somber and serious.

"Yes, I am," Gúthwyn told her sister, her words as confident as her heart was not. Turning back to Cobryn, she embraced him tightly. He understood her need for his security and did not stiffen, but rather held her as she shuddered one last time.

"Good luck," he bade her when at length she pulled away.

"Thank you," she murmured, wishing yet again that he could accompany her to Legolas's colony. However, both Hammel and Haiweth had flatly refused to make the journey—and so her friend had offered to stay behind and watch them for her.

After one more look at the children, Gúthwyn mounted Sceoh and guided him over to Éowyn and Faramir. She was relieved to note that the guard Faramir had chosen included none of the Rangers who had been present in the forest nearly a decade ago. In fact, three of them were the same men who had watched her spar with Cobryn and—supposedly—thought her just as comely as Éowyn.

She could not resist the temptation to scrutinize them now. Like almost every Gondorian male, they had wavy brown hair that reached their shoulders. The older two, with similarly-shaped noses and equally square jaws, might have been related; they were conversing together as they saddled their horses. Yet Gúthwyn's gaze lingered on the younger Ranger, who was ready and waiting atop his steed. He had lighter hair than the others, and his eyes were glints of green as they scanned his surroundings.

Gúthwyn watched him for a minute or two, more out of curiosity than anything. He was handsome, certainly, but that was not what drew her interest. She thought that he reminded her of the youthful warriors in Edoras, such as Hunwald, who had always treated her kindly.

While she was observing the Ranger, he happened to glance up and meet her eyes. Although he had caught her looking at him, she did not blush; instead she gave him a smile, as if she had coincidentally turned her head in his direction that very instant. She was surprised when his mouth opened slightly, like something was stuck in his throat. He quickly paled and stared intently at the back of his horse's neck, but not before his companions had noticed and nudged each other in amusement.

Yet what stunned Gúthwyn the most was not the realization that she could have this effect on a man, the same effect that she had watched other women have on their partners for years and never fully understood. What shocked her was that she felt no threat from this Ranger, despite the fact that she had seen his eyes take in her hair and cheeks and lips. For once, she was not afraid; she was even _flattered_.

She hummed contentedly, allowing herself a small grin in recognition of this accomplishment.

* * *

><p>Although Legolas's colony was set in the depths of Ithilien, where Borogor had fallen, Gúthwyn saw nothing that resembled the dark forest in which the ambush had taken place as she, Éowyn, Faramir, and the Rangers arrived at its boundaries. The ride had been five hours long and quite peaceful, with nothing more menacing than flowers in the shadows between the trees.<p>

The tranquility of the journey, however, had not been able to assuage Gúthwyn's steadily growing discomfort over the destination, which she supposed was only natural. This knowledge did not make it easier to bear, however, and consequently Sceoh became difficult to manage: he detected her nervousness and, assuming that the colony was very dreadful indeed, grew increasingly reluctant to move forward.

Nevertheless, at long last they reached a place in the forest where the sun seemed to shine through even the thickest clusters of branches, and the air was freer though the trees were no fewer. The company of Rangers slowed down, as if they were waiting for something. What they were expecting became apparent a moment later, when two Elves emerged out of seemingly nowhere—causing Gúthwyn to pale and curse herself for stupidly agreeing to accept Legolas's invitation—and greeted the group.

To Gúthwyn's surprise, one of them was Trelan. "My lady," he said to her cordially, finishing the round of acknowledgements that had started with Éowyn and Faramir. He then addressed all of the visitors. "Legolas is currently in council, as we have just received tidings from King Thranduil that require immediate discussion. He apologizes immensely for his inability to meet you himself, but has asked me to show you to your quarters and allow you time to get settled in. The meeting should not last much longer."

Gúthwyn nodded, feeling rather relieved. She had been hoping to have some time to prepare herself before she met Legolas. While she was becoming more at ease in his presence than she had ever been, the fact that she was now in his territory would undoubtedly make their encounters stressful for her. She needed to reassure herself that she had nothing to worry about, a process that would certainly require more than a few seconds.

Trelan now joined them as they continued along the path, but luckily he struck up a conversation with Faramir and Éowyn. Other than the occasional effort to include Gúthwyn, he did not trouble her and she was able to navigate Sceoh so that she was closer to some of the Rangers.

As they rode, Éomund's youngest daughter was startled to see homes begin to appear in the very trees they were passing under. Often they were so well-concealed and so high up that she would never have noticed them had not a tell-tale light been shining through the branches; others were lower to the ground, and consequently more visible. The dwellings appeared to have been constructed around the tree trunks so as never to obstruct their growth. Many of them had few walls, and were open to the surrounding air. Gúthwyn shivered at the thought of a cold breeze gliding through her room at night, and prayed that Legolas had some accommodations more fit for his human visitors.

To add to Gúthwyn's anxiety, the owners of these houses began emerging from the woodwork—literally—to observe the company's movement. Éomund's daughter could rarely see more than a flash of golden hair or a booted foot quickly disappearing into the trees, but she sometimes heard laughter and wondered fearfully if they were mocking her. _What foolishness made me agree to come here?_ she asked herself, shuddering.

An unexpected voice at her side caused her to jump. "Sister, are you feeling well?" Éowyn concernedly inquired.

"Why are they all watching us?" Gúthwyn demanded in a panicked whisper.

"Who?" Éowyn questioned, glancing in confusion at the Rangers.

"The Elves," Gúthwyn hissed, tightly gripping Sceoh's reins. "They are staring at us from the trees!"

"The citizens of Edoras line the streets when they receive visitors," Éowyn reminded her gently. "It is normal that the Elves should do the same."

Gúthwyn was only slightly placated by this. More than ever, she wished she had not bullied herself into venturing out to the colony.

"If you want to go back," Éowyn said quietly, "Faramir can always arrange for some of the Rangers to escort you."

Éomund's youngest daughter adamantly shook her head: she would never be able to live with herself if she turned into such a coward. "I will be fine," she insisted, more to herself than to Éowyn. In order to avoid catching any further glimpses of the Elves in the trees, she stared down at the back of Sceoh's neck and looked neither left nor right until the horses around her began to slow.

When at last Gúthwyn tentatively glanced up, she was relieved to see that they were in front of a large dwelling that was unquestionably grounded. Aside from a few wings that snaked upwards into the trees, with spiral staircases wrapping around the trunks that reminded her of Lothlórien, the main bulk of the house was assuredly touching the forest floor. There were also walls, much to her delight.

"Is it not beautiful?" Éowyn asked her in an undertone, surveying the premises.

As reluctant as she was to agree, Gúthwyn had no other choice but to concede. The red and orange hues of a glorious sunset were streaming in all around them, and there was the distinct sound of a rippling brook somewhere nearby. The noise reminded Éomund's daughter of the waterfall she had seen in Emyn Arnen. Ithilien still had nothing on the open fields of Rohan, yet she could not claim that it was not magnificent in its own way.

She was unpleasantly jolted out of her thoughts when another group of Elves appeared as if out of thin air, a mannerism she was starting to fear as commonplace. One of them stepped forward and said, "We will bring your horses to our stables. Do not worry: they shall be in capable hands."

Éowyn and Faramir were already dismounting; Gúthwyn noticed that the Steward of Gondor was quick to help steady his wife as her feet touched the ground. Far from rolling her eyes and reminding Faramir that she was perfectly capable of getting off a horse, as Gúthwyn expected her to, Éowyn instead smiled at him and put a gentle hand on her stomach. There was still no visible sign of pregnancy, but in a few months that would change.

Éomund's youngest daughter briefly glanced away to conceal the envious shade of green tinting her features. She wanted so badly to only be happy for her sister; yet she could never quite suppress the jealous faction in her soul that made her constantly wonder, _why can _I _not have a child, too?_

Of course, the answer was simple… and it came back to the one topic that had been plaguing Gúthwyn's thoughts with an alarming voracity for the past several weeks: marriage. Without a husband, she would never give birth to a son or a daughter. However, the prospect of finding a spouse brought with it a whole new set of problems. She could not have both chastity and children; she had to forsake one to obtain the other.

_Which is more important to me?_ she asked herself, knowing she would not be able to come up with an answer.

"Sister, are you coming?"

Belatedly, Gúthwyn realized that she had yet to dismount Sceoh—and that both Éowyn and Faramir were watching her concernedly. Flushing, she slid onto the ground and unwillingly surrendered the reigns to an Elf who came forward. She did not place them in his hands, as she should have; she simply let go and hurried away before he could move closer to her.

"Trelan will show us to our rooms," Éowyn explained when Gúthwyn caught up, slightly out of breath. "We have plenty of time to settle in before dinner."

Gúthwyn inwardly grimaced: such a meal would be far more difficult to stomach in the presence of Elves. She said nothing, however, and dutifully trailed after her sister as Trelan led them through an arched entryway. They apparently had not gone through the main door, since they were now in a spacious corridor hung with numerous paintings and tapestries.

"First, we will bring Lady Gúthwyn to her room," Trelan announced as they began the trek down the passageway. Gúthwyn gazed at the walls as she followed Éowyn, noticing that they all seemed to depict the same forest: Mirkwood, or Eryn Lasgalen, she assumed. Despite the feasting and merry-making of the Elves shown in nearly every piece, the trees remained untouchably dark and menacing. She shivered, wondering why anyone would wish to reside in such a place.

Eventually the group slowed in front of a door, which Trelan opened to reveal where Éomund's youngest daughter would be staying for the next week. Gúthwyn nervously walked around Trelan and into her new quarters, hoping to at least find walls. Once inside, however, she was pleasantly surprised. Not only was she mercifully protected from the elements, but there was also a fireplace and an enormous bed piled high with thick fur comforters.

Then her eyes widened in shock: hanging between two candle-brackets on the wall across from her bed was the banner of Rohan—a white horse running across a green field—proudly displayed for all to see. It was a bit of home that was both jarring and comforting in this unfamiliar location, not to mention completely unexpected.

"W-Where did Legolas get that?" she asked Trelan, stunned.

"He had it made once your visit was arranged," Trelan explained, smiling at Gúthwyn's wonder. "It was his hope that it would remind you of your home and ease your time here."

Gúthwyn could scarcely believe that Legolas had gone to so much trouble to make her feel comfortable in his dwelling, and such a revelation only intensified her guilt at having treated him so poorly during the first year of their acquaintance. "I-It is wonderful," she told Trelan wholeheartedly, though her words were inadequate a description of how kind and generous the gesture truly was.

Trelan inclined his head. "Is there anything I can get you before we depart?"

Gúthwyn quickly assured him that she lacked for nothing; even if she had, she would not have troubled him by asking for it. Legolas and his companions had clearly already done more than enough to assuage her misgivings about venturing into the colony—requesting aught else would be incredibly ungrateful of her.

"Will you be all right on your own for a few minutes?" Éowyn inquired softly as Trelan and Faramir began to leave the room. "I shall return as soon as Faramir and I have unpacked."

"I will be fine," Gúthwyn told her, neither for the first nor last time.

Éowyn gave her a quick, stern once-over to determine whether or not she was lying. Gúthwyn evidently passed the test, for at length Éowyn bade her farewell and followed the others out. The sound of the door shutting made Éomund's youngest daughter swallow—perhaps she had been too hasty in pushing her older sister away.

However, unless she wished to humiliate herself by running after Éowyn and asking the White Lady to stay with her, she would have to grit her teeth and endure her solitude in a colony full of Elves.

"I should unpack," she decided aloud, hoping that occupying herself with the menial task would keep her mind off of her current circumstances. She had not brought much, however: just enough dresses to last her the week, a couple of tunics and a pair of leggings, and Framwine. It was a few minutes' work to take everything out of her knapsack and stow it away in a drawer, so when she was done she still had plenty of time left until Éowyn and Faramir returned.

Walking over to the window, she leaned over and tentatively peered out to examine the view. She found herself looking out across a marvelous garden, one that contained many plants she recognized from Emyn Arnen. Clearly, Éowyn had been liberal in her gifts to Legolas. Gúthwyn noted the tasteful layout of the trees and herbs, though her eyes were most drawn to the large pool in the center of the garden. A ring of white flowers, the same Legolas had given her the morning after her discovery of Borogor's grave, had been planted around the water's edge; she could smell them from her room.

Éomund's daughter took a deep breath, for a brief moment wondering what it would have been like if Borogor had been the one to bring her such flowers. Yet before she could surrender to such torturous fantasies, she reminded herself that she could no longer dwell on the man she loved as she once had. For her own sake and sanity, she had to move on.

Searching for something to distract herself, she set her sights upon the bed in her chambers. Now that she thought about it, she was rather tired from the afternoon of traveling. Additionally, the furs on top of the mattress were exquisitely tempting. The air around her suddenly seemed a bit chilly—or was she just casting around for an excuse to slide beneath the covers and take a nap?

Well, she hardly needed convincing. Closing the drapes—which were successful in blocking her from the view of any Elves potentially wandering in the gardens, but mercifully not thick enough to entirely cut off the light—she retreated to the bed and ensconced herself within the first layer of comforters. Enveloped by warmth and a lulling sense of security, she closed her eyes and began to drift off.

It was one of those enjoyable naps where she was sentient enough to be aware of her surroundings, yet otherwise rested peacefully in the arms of sleep. Gúthwyn could dimly hear birds chattering in the forest and the faint rustling of the trees, but inside her fur cocoon she was removed from everything except the slow, rhythmic beating of her own heart.

Her thoughts started to wander. First they circulated around Éowyn's child, guessing as to what gender the baby would be and coming up with vague, half-formed names that would have perhaps made no sense to someone fully awake, but somehow seemed valid to her. She imagined herself carrying the boy or girl in her arms, planting a soft kiss on the infant's brow.

Before she could grasp that image and hold onto it, Gúthwyn slid further into her subconscious and saw Legolas approaching her. She hovered uncertainly as she watched him draw closer, torn between staying and running away. Would he hurt her? He had never tried to before… He seemed genuinely pleased about their encounter, and was even smiling at her. There were white flowers in his hands—a peace offering?

Then his eyes changed. They turned cold, dark, remorseless. By the time she saw the danger, it was too late: Haldor was upon her, his mouth clamping down on hers and sucking all the air from her lungs. Gúthwyn gasped in terror and tried to wrench away, but the fists curled around her arms were like iron and she could not break free. There were thorns on the flowers; she could feel them pushing through her skin, sharp pinpricks of agony that were nothing in comparison to what she was experiencing as icy fingers slid between her legs.

_I want Legolas back,_ she thought, whimpering against Haldor's tongue. _Please, make Haldor stop…_ Where had Legolas gone? Anything, anyone was preferable to this. "Legolas!" she tried to call, but Haldor pulled her in closer until breathing was impossible. She was drowning in him, unable to tell where she ended and his rule began. _Legolas, please…_

A sudden knock on the door caused Gúthwyn to fling herself forward, bursting out of her dream and emerging into an unfamiliar room. She sat bolt upright on the bed, panting heavily and frantically trying to figure out what had just happened. At last she remembered that she was in Legolas's colony, and that Éowyn had promised to return; with a hoarse, croaking voice, she said, "Come in!"

The door slowly opened. "Gúthwyn?" someone who was most certainly _not_ Éowyn asked.

When Legolas stepped halfway into the room, Éomund's daughter jumped a foot in the air and attempted to turn around so that she was properly facing him. She was so tangled in her blankets, however, that she could not move. With a muffled curse, she kicked and squirmed until she was free—and then realized that both her dress and riding pants had ridden up during the course of her slumber, and were now exposing a significant portion of her legs to a rather confused Legolas.

Mortified, Gúthwyn yanked the closest comforter back over her lower half.

"Is everything all right?" Legolas inquired concernedly, still firmly in place under the doorway.

"No—I mean, yes—" Gúthwyn stammered, painfully conscious of the disheveled mess that was her hair. "I mean, I j-just woke up from a nap I-I did not know I was taking…" She attempted to surreptitiously flatten the frizz on top of her head, though without success. "What time is it? Is it dinner already?"

"The table is being prepared as we speak, so it shall be at least another quarter of an hour before it is ready for us to sit down," Legolas replied, tactfully not commenting on Gúthwyn's disoriented state. "I simply came by to see if there was anything you found lacking in your accommodations."

"No, not at all," Gúthwyn immediately protested, some of the color returning to her cheeks. "I-In fact, I must thank you for everything you have done," she continued, gesturing towards the Rohirric banner on her wall. "This is incredible—I-I cannot even begin to describe how much I…"

"Do not trouble yourself; it was my pleasure," Legolas insisted, smiling at her expression. "How was the journey here?"

"Wonderful," Gúthwyn assured him confidently, although she was beginning to feel increasingly awkward about the fact that she was addressing him from a bed with her skirt bunched up uncomfortably close to her waist. Fumbling around for something to say, she settled on, "And your meeting? How did it go?"

"Well enough," Legolas replied. "A number of Elves in my father's kingdom have expressed an interest in relocating here. Consequently, we will have to have several additional meetings in order to discuss the housing that must be built for them—however, thankfully not tonight."

Gúthwyn giggled, fully aware that the prince's dislike for council sessions was a close match to her own. She would never understand why Cobryn enjoyed them, nor how Éomer was able to endure them without going insane. Her taste of power in Rohan had been brief, but still long enough for her to discover how unsuited she was to being a ruler. It was just as well that she had not married Elphir, for sooner or later she would have found herself as the reigning princess of Dol Amroth—a frightening concept.

"Before I leave you," Legolas said then, "are you sure that there is nothing of which you are in need?"

"Positive," Gúthwyn replied firmly.

Legolas inclined his head and then exited her chambers, closing the door behind him. Gúthwyn was very relieved to disentangle herself from the comforters and straighten her clothing. She could hardly remember what she had been dreaming about before Legolas's visit; she resolved to push the few remaining scraps of recollection from her mind and instead find Éowyn's room. Perhaps she would help her sister unpack, instead of waiting for her return—after all, rest was now more important than ever to the White Lady.

She thought Éowyn had turned right when heading to her own quarters, so she went in the same direction. As she walked down the hall, she prayed that she would not run into an Elf. Legolas's letter had promised that these lodgings were removed from the main part of the house, and as such were relatively secluded, but clearly they were not inaccessible. Luckily, however, the corridor was quite deserted—so that when Éowyn's laughter suddenly rippled out from behind a wall, it was undiluted by any other noise.

Curious as to what had amused her sister, Gúthwyn approached the room closest to the sound. The door had been left ajar, yet she still raised a fist to knock for fear of intruding upon something. Then, she stiffened: through the crack, she had a clear view of Faramir wrapping his arms around Éowyn's waist and pulling her in for a passionate kiss.

"Faramir!" Éowyn exclaimed breathlessly when they separated, her eyes sparkling. "Dinner is in less than half an hour…"

Faramir's voice was lower and huskier than Gúthwyn had ever heard it, but she could still discern every word. "That is more than enough time," he murmured, now planting a trail of kisses along his wife's collarbone.

A growing sense of dread began to fill Gúthwyn's stomach as Éowyn responded by sliding her hands underneath Faramir's shirt, slowly working them up the Steward's spine and then gradually around to his chest. Faramir's back was to Gúthwyn, so she could not see the reaction Éowyn's ministrations provoked, but his sharp intake of breath was audible.

Suddenly, without warning, one of Éowyn's palms ghosted down Faramir's torso and disappeared into his breeches. Gúthwyn blanched, unable to tear her eyes from the ghastly sight—but feeling as disgusting as if she herself were now doing whatever it was that was making Faramir moan in pleasure.

Éomund's youngest daughter was so busy gaping in horror at her sister's rotating wrist that she did not notice how Faramir's hands were occupying themselves. She was dimly aware that they had ventured somewhere behind Éowyn's back, but she was utterly unprepared when the White Lady's gown unexpectedly slipped below her shoulders—exposing everything above her stomach to Faramir's ravenous lips.

The sight of Éowyn's nakedness was like a slap in the face. Gúthwyn wrenched herself away from the repulsive scene and ran, sprinting until she reached the safety of her own room. Once inside, she bolted the door and took several deep, shuddering breaths. Her eyes darted around, searching for the chamber pot. Already she could feel the nausea rising within her stomach, threatening to spiral out of control.

_You will _not _throw up,_ she ordered herself, curling over and gasping for air. _You will _not_ throw up. _She was not going to make her first evening in the colony even worse by becoming violently ill, even if every fiber of her being was screaming to physically reject what she had just seen.

She sank to the floor, wrapped her arms around her knees, and waited. She waited until she no longer had the urge to vomit, though it took a quarter of an hour and left trails of blood on her limbs from where she had dug her nails in and squeezed. She waited until she could inhale and exhale without a single memory of Haldor resurfacing, without her mind being tormented by thoughts of what Éowyn and Faramir were doing.

She waited until she had fooled herself into believing that the darkness was gone.


	49. Éowyn's Advice

**Chapter Forty-Nine**

Apart from her flushed cheeks, nothing about Éowyn's appearance was amiss when she and Faramir sat down at the dinner table—yet Gúthwyn's stomach still twisted at the very sight of her sister, until merely glancing at her became an impossibility. This was rather inconvenient, as the company present was limited to the visitors, Trelan, and Legolas. If she tried to avoid conversing with Éowyn, the snub would be obvious.

The only fortunate part of the whole sordid affair was the fact that hardly any Elves were to be dining with them. Instead of eating in a hall, they had been seated on a porch beneath a sky strewn with stars. Although Éomund's daughter had initially feared that she would get the chills, the air was warm and balmy. She was also pleasantly surprised to discover that a number of the dishes before her were completely without meat—something she suspected that Legolas had arranged her for sake, not to mention the lack of immortals at the table.

As the meal began, she realized that she was next to the very Ranger who had blushed upon catching her eye earlier that day. Now she smiled at him again, to be met with the same reaction.

"M-My lady," he greeted her, staring down at his plate.

"My lord," Gúthwyn replied cordially, though she was quite obviously his senior in both age and rank. He glanced up at her, his cheeks still rather pink. "I do not believe we have been properly introduced," she continued encouragingly. "I am Gúthwyn of Rohan."

"Galen, at your service," the Ranger replied, bowing his head respectfully. "How do you find Emyn Arnen, my lady?"

His speech was so earnest, his features so gentle, that Gúthwyn could not help but recall Tun. Swallowing her regret, she informed Galen, "It is wonderful. Everything here is beautiful."

"Is it not?" Galen beamed in agreement. "Will you be here long?"

"I believe so," Gúthwyn replied, hoping that the cheerfulness she forced into her voice did not betray the sudden longing she felt for Rohan. "I have no immediate plans to return to Edoras. I may very well be here for a year, if Éowyn will tolerate me for so many months."

The White Lady did not overhear her; Gúthwyn could tell by the giddy expression on her face, not to mention the pleased look upon Legolas's, that she was in the process of informing the Elf about the forthcoming addition to her and Faramir's household.

"Why would she not?" Galen blurted out, looking confused as he ladled some stew onto his plate. Éomund's daughter had tasted it already; it was excellent, and contained not a trace of meat. "You are her sister."

"Sister or not, I would not want to overstay my welcome," Gúthwyn responded. Seeking to change the subject, lest Éowyn start listening in, she asked, "Have you been in Emyn Arnen your whole life?"

Galen nodded. "My mother and father left Minas Tirith when I was but an infant, and I have only returned on occasion."

Smiling, Gúthwyn said, "Well, you hardly need to travel elsewhere when your home is so delightful."

Galen happily agreed; Gúthwyn noticed that his food lay forgotten on his plate. "What of Rohan, my lady? I have not heard anything less about King Éomer's realm."

Gúthwyn sighed, picturing the rolling plains, the bustling streets of Edoras, and, most of all, her family. As overprotective as Éomer was, she missed him greatly and would have given anything to live with him again. And that was without mention of Elfwine… "As much as I have enjoyed my time in Ithilien, I find that nothing can compare to my brother's kingdom—let alone outmatch it."

"Then you have not sojourned long enough in Ithilien," Galen answered jestingly.

Gúthwyn smiled noncommittally, knowing that no amount of time in Emyn Arnen could change her mind. Galen sensed that she remained unconvinced and opened his mouth in what would undoubtedly have been a futile effort to sway her, but at that moment they were both beckoned to join separate conversations: Galen hailed by some of the other Rangers, and Gúthwyn addressed by Éowyn—much to the former's chagrin.

"Sister, would you be amenable to exploring the colony tomorrow?" the White Lady inquired, an amused glint in her eyes as she glanced at Galen. Legolas, Gúthwyn observed, was also looking at the young Ranger, though his features were quite inscrutable.

"Of course," Gúthwyn agreed, shifting uneasily in her seat as she spoke to her sister. Adding to her discomfort were the considerable amount of butterflies taking rapid flight in her stomach: tomorrow, there would be Elves in every direction she turned. She would have to stay close to Éowyn, despite the horrifying glimpse she had caught of the White Lady's union with her husband.

"We can always wait another day if you would like to relax," Éowyn assured her, the true intentions behind her words evident in the low murmur of her voice.

"N-No, I will be fine," Gúthwyn promised, though she had her doubts.

Legolas, who was now watching her, said, "If you would prefer, we can delay the tour until the afternoon, when many will be at the training grounds, so our comings and goings shall not be disturbed."

Gúthwyn nodded eagerly, relieved—and grateful—that Legolas had proposed this solution. "If it is not too much trouble, of course," she hastened to declare.

"Not at all," Legolas replied, as she knew he would.

Faramir's eyes narrowed slightly at this; Gúthwyn imagined that he must have been trying to determine what concern of hers everyone was tip-toeing around. In hopes of distracting him, she cleared her throat and asked Legolas, "Have you any plans for the rest of the week, my lord?"

"Only to serve and entertain my guests," Legolas responded with a smile, his gaze resting on hers. Gúthwyn flushed, wishing that his blue eyes were not so disconcerting. Even when they no longer had the same terrorizing effect upon her as Haldor's, she found that they were still unsettling in a strangely different way. "Since this is your first time visiting my home"—there was a small hesitation before 'home'—Legolas continued, "is there anything in particular you would like to see?"

Startled at being given this choice, when in fact she did not know her options, Gúthwyn stuttered, "I-I…"

"If I am not mistaken, I believe my baby sister would appreciate the waterfall you showed Faramir and I long ago," Éowyn contributed, inadvertently causing Gúthwyn to cringe at the reminder of her husband.

Legolas glanced at Éomund's youngest daughter, his brow momentarily knitting; but the next instant he was as hospitable as ever, agreeing with Éowyn and saying, "Perhaps we should spend a day there. It may be too cold to swim"—it was November—"but at the very least we can have a picnic. The scenery will be no less marvelous."

"I pray there are no cliffs at this waterfall," Gúthwyn spoke, only partially in jest. She still shuddered whenever she recalled Haiweth's close brush with death; if Legolas had not pulled the child out of the water in time, she did not know what she would have done with herself.

"Nay, it is quite safe," Legolas assured her, understanding her concerns. "Except for directly beneath the falls, the water is perfectly still."

Gúthwyn gave a small smile of relief. "Then I would be most delighted to go there, should the opportunity arise and it not prove terribly inconvenient."

"I would never consider anything done for my guests an inconvenience," Legolas adamantly declared.

"Well, you did grumble quite a bit the last time your father came to visit and he wanted an in-depth report of the colony first thing in the morning," Trelan mischievously interjected, winking at Gúthwyn.

"Only because I had previously informed him that I would be practicing archery during those hours, a detail he conveniently forgot," Legolas protested. "He does not believe it fitting for a prince to spend so much time on something other than governance," he added for his guests' benefit.

Gúthwyn nearly leaned over to mutter "I am thankful for not being royalty" to Éowyn, but just in time she remembered what she had witnessed her sister doing. Instead, she edged her chair further away from the White Lady.

Once Trelan had finished teasing Legolas about his father, Legolas turned to Gúthwyn and asked, "Forgive me for not inquiring sooner—how fare Hammel and Haiweth?"

"Wonderfully," Gúthwyn replied, rather untruthfully. Although Haiweth seemed to enjoy Ithilien—yet never passed up an opportunity to hint to Éomund's youngest daughter that she wanted to visit Minas Tirith—Hammel rarely emerged from his bedroom and had isolated himself from the few boys and girls his age. The only communication he appeared to have with the outside world consisted of letters, bearing Aldeth's name and once a month sent very discreetly to Rohan, whose contents he never disclosed to even Cobryn. "I am sorry that they are not here today; they..."

Too late, she realized that, despite Éowyn informing Legolas that only three of them would be visiting, no reason had ever been given as to why Hammel and Haiweth had not chosen to venture out of Emyn Arnen; and now Gúthwyn was on the spot, fumbling for an excuse.

"It is quite all right," Legolas spoke then, intervening before she stuttered even more. "I can imagine that it will take some time before they have adjusted to the move."

Relieved, Gúthwyn agreed. Hammel, she knew, still had not forgiven her for deciding to leave Rohan. Haiweth, on the other hand, seemed perfectly content. What worried Éomund's youngest daughter, however, was that the girl appeared to view Emyn Arnen as a stepping-stone by which she might ascend to Minas Tirith.

"Fortunately, we have enough books for Hammel's liking," Éowyn said, smiling at Gúthwyn. The gesture was weakly returned. "Haiweth, meanwhile, has enjoyed having new subjects for drawing."

This was perhaps a slight exaggeration: Haiweth's favorite subjects always had been, and likely always would be, extravagant dresses made of the finest silk. These, of course, were prevalent in neither Rohan nor Ithilien. Yet Gúthwyn had seen Haiweth, on occasion, sitting outside and sketching the forest. Her looks had won her several admiring glances from passersby, worrying Éomund's youngest daughter—especially since some of the younger men were staring longer than she felt comfortable with.

Although the conversation gradually segued from Hammel and Haiweth to Éowyn and Faramir's unborn child, Gúthwyn's thoughts lingered on her own children. She remembered the days when all she had to do was greet them, and they would smile; now it was as if she could do nothing right as far as they were concerned. Hammel and Haiweth obviously resented her, even if the latter was more adept at concealing her bitterness. How had it come to this?

She understood why Hammel distanced himself from her, since she knew he had somehow found out about her and Haldor. Yet she did not believe that he had discussed the matter with Haiweth, which made the girl's discontent a mystery. What had she done to anger or upset the girl? Was it simply that Haiweth had come to despise living in Rohan, and in announcing her feelings had driven a wedge between them? Or was it something deeper-reaching than that?

"Sister, are you not hungry?" Éowyn asked in quiet Rohirric, looking pointedly at Gúthwyn's plate. "You have barely touched your food."

Although this was her cue to eat, Éomund's youngest daughter could not imagine doing so whilst besieged by such nausea. She tried not to cringe away from Éowyn, but she could not master her revulsion. Her hands were trembling, her face most certainly pale. Suddenly she wanted nothing more than to be done with dinner, to escape from the suffocating sense of everything being wrong.

"Sister?" Éowyn pressed, concerned.

In muted response, Gúthwyn served herself some bread and broke off a piece. Although it was like ash in her dry throat, she forced it down and then took a long drought of water to alleviate the parched taste. Éowyn watched her approvingly, making the whole procedure a thousand times worse. Shortly after, however, the White Lady mercifully returned to the main conversation at the table—a conversation which, Gúthwyn noticed, Legolas attempted numerous times to draw Éomund's youngest daughter into, generally without success.

All in all, Gúthwyn was very glad when the end of dinner arrived. She made a grateful retreat to her room, from which she hoped not to have to emerge until the late afternoon for the tour. The washbasin was a welcome amenity: she spent nearly half an hour cleaning herself, scrubbing away the filth that had accumulated on her body since the moment she had nearly walked in on Éowyn and Faramir.

Though the room was warm, she shivered. She hated even thinking about what her sister did with her husband when they were alone; it was a whole new dimension of Éowyn that she had no desire to encounter. The memory of how willingly Éowyn had consented to Faramir's advances—nay, even _encouraged_ them—was appalling. Did her sister not realize how degrading, how disgusting her behavior was?

Gúthwyn remembered her nights with Haldor and felt sick. She finished washing herself and then dressed in a thick nightgown, the fabric of which embraced her more effectively than any blanket she could wrap around her thin frame. Once garbed, she crossed the room to her bed and stretched fully out, inhaling and exhaling deeply in an attempt to reduce her nausea.

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door. In case it was Legolas for some reason, although she could not imagine why he would be visiting her, she sat up and called, "Come in!"

A moment later, she wished she had pretended to be asleep—for Éowyn entered the room, her face lined with worry.

"Is something wrong?" Gúthwyn asked in confusion, instinctively edging away from her approaching sister.

"I came to inquire after your health," Éowyn replied somberly, "for it did not escape my attention that your complexion was rather wan throughout dinner. Are you feeling well?"

"Of course I am," Gúthwyn immediately lied, hoping that Éowyn would soon leave her alone. In order to avoid looking at the same woman who had engaged in such lewd acts not more than two hours ago, she busied herself by arranging the few items on her bedside table.

She had not been absorbed by this activity for more than a few seconds before the mattress dipped slightly below her. She heard a gentle creaking sound, as well as the rustling of fabric as Éowyn settled herself into a sitting position on the bed. "Gúthwyn, look at me," the White Lady urged softly.

Gúthwyn's hands moved to the flowers atop her nightstand, deftly plucking and reinserting. She was so intent upon her designs that she did not mark Éowyn moving closer until it was too late; and then the palm squeezing her shoulder was like a fist of iron. "Sister, please," Éowyn murmured, her voice reminding Gúthwyn of how she had whispered into Faramir's ear. "Tell me what is bothering you."

"Nothing," Gúthwyn muttered, flinching at the unwanted contact. "I am fine, really—perhaps a little tired, that is all."

"I know you are lying," Éowyn said sharply. "You were not like this before dinner; what happened?"

—_Éowyn's fingers slipped beneath Faramir's waistband, caressing him, eliciting guttural moans from the Steward. They were drawing ever closer to the bed, now coming apart only to cast aside a piece of clothing here, an undergarment there. At last undressed, they fell onto the sheets in a tangle of limbs. Éowyn gasped and sighed in pleasure, a whore enthralled by her own ecstasy—_

—_Haldor was pinning her to the mattress, his power too great to resist. Gúthwyn felt the pain mounting as he thrust in and out of her, purposefully making his movements as jarring as possible. The agony and the humiliation were unbearable. Over the sound of her muted screams she heard him, again and again: "You are mine, you slut. Mine!" He had ruined her; no one would want her now; he was going faster and faster, until the filth was on her legs and seeping into the mattress—_

—"_I love you," Borogor whispered, his face mere inches from her own. They were lying next to each other under the covers, bare arms interlaced. Gúthwyn was happy, content: this was where she belonged._

"_I love you, too," she whispered, leaning in for a kiss. As their lips met, she tried to memorize every second of the experience: the warmth of his body beside hers, the gentleness of his fingers running through her hair, the sense of security—_

Gúthwyn's face was wet with tears by the time her agonized thoughts loosened their grip on her. She was torturously confused: was making love shameful, terrifying, or wonderful? Why did it seem as if she were the only one who saw how disgusting the act truly was—or, instead, was she pitied by her friends and family for remaining unenlightened?

"Sister?" Éowyn prompted her, concerned.

"Why do you let Faramir touch you?" Gúthwyn asked, so softly that she could barely hear her own trembling words. "How can you possibly find it enjoyable?"

There was a long pause before Éowyn responded, in which the flowers before Éomund's youngest daughter started to blur from the tears in her eyes. "Gúthwyn," Éowyn at last began, her voice strained as if from exhaustion, "why does this weigh on your mind now?"

Gúthwyn struggled not to weep, but her shoulders shook as she choked out in a strangled whisper, "I saw… I-I was j-just going to… to help y-you unpack a-and you and F-Faramir were…" She could not continue: she would start sobbing, or vomiting, or both.

Éowyn took several minutes to answer, as if she were deliberating the best manner in which to broach the subject. "I am sorry you bore witness to that," she finally began, sounding genuinely remorseful. "As for your question… I do not fear Faramir. I know he would never harm me, nor take from me what I did not desire to give. I make love to him because I want to, not because I feel obligated or pressured to."

"But d-does it not h-hurt?" Gúthwyn pressed her sister, quivering. "W-Why would y-you ever… ever w-w-want to?"

"The first few moments of our wedding night, I felt a slight discomfort," Éowyn admitted, "but it disappeared quickly and has not returned since. Faramir has always been gentle with me, putting my satisfaction before his own—and, apart from the consummation of our marriage, I have experienced nothing but pleasure when I am with him."

Gúthwyn could not imagine ever voluntarily submitting to such a ghastly act. She thought of how much she had dreaded the summons to Haldor's tent, how much dignity she had lost by the time she would crawl out of his bed. The idea of actively seeking out such humiliation was inconceivable—how could Éowyn speak of satisfaction, of pleasure? Had her sister been discussing a kiss, maybe, or even the occasional caress, perhaps Gúthwyn could comprehend; yet making love? Never.

"I know it is difficult for you to understand," Éowyn said kindly; "but when you are with someone who loves you and has vowed to spend the rest of their life with you, lying together is natural and respectable. This is partly why I have always wanted you to wed another: because once you realize that you can find joy in making love, Haldor's hold over you will finally weaken. If you fear marriage for the rest of your life, he will have utterly triumphed over you—and you deserve far more than that, baby sister."

"I cannot!" Gúthwyn burst out, burying her face in her hands. "I cannot bring myself to…. I-I am so t-terrified of… Why do I h-have to—Why do I-I need a husband?"

"You do not _need_ a husband," Éowyn corrected her reassuringly, "but are you so certain that you would not desire one? You have so much love for Hammel and Haiweth, Elfwine, and your siblings—would you not also want someone to hold, to kiss, to fall asleep next to at night and wake up beside in the morning? Someone to provide companionship when the children have grown up and started families, when Elfwine assumes his duties as a prince, and when Éomer and I cannot be there for you? Someone to give you a son or a daughter of your own, so that you can be the mother I know you want to be—and are more than capable of being?"

"I-I do want a child," Gúthwyn mournfully conceded, "perhaps more than anything in the world… A-And I w-would like to have with another w-what I could never have with B-Borogor…But not if I h-have to…" She shuddered; yet more tears stained her cheeks.

Éowyn's arms wrapped consolingly around her shoulders. "I wish I could make you see the difference between what Haldor did to you and what you should have discovered with someone who truly loved you," the White Lady said fervently, "but I have not that power. All I can ask is that you not forsake marriage, that you give yourself a chance to recover in a way that cowering from men will not enable you to."

"Who would ever want to be my husband," Gúthwyn asked bitterly, "once they found out that I… that I am not a virgin?"

Guessing where Gúthwyn's thoughts lay, Éowyn replied emphatically, "If someone like Elphir will not listen to your side of the story, then he does not deserve to be your spouse."

Gúthwyn smiled ruefully. "That is what Cobryn told me," she admitted, realizing that her conversation with Éowyn was almost a direct echo of the discussion she had had with her friend.

"Occasionally, one needs to hear something multiple times in order for it to sink in," Éowyn responded kindly.

"I wish it were that easy," Gúthwyn murmured, at last turning around to face her sister. Folding her arms across her stomach, she added, "I would give almost anything to not be so afraid. But every time I try to imagine what it would be like to have a husband, all I can picture is what happened in Mordor… and the last thing I want to do is spend my nights at the mercy of someone else's whim. I had to murder Haldor to get away from him, and I nearly killed myself in the process—I cannot endure that all over again."

"You will not have to," Éowyn vowed, tightly squeezing Gúthwyn's shoulder. "No man in love with you would ever force himself upon you—I promise."

"I thought Haldor was in love with me," Gúthwyn whispered, swallowing.

"You made a mistake that anyone in your position would have made," Éowyn told her, "and you suffered greatly, undeservingly, for it—but between myself, Éomer, Cobryn, Hammel, Haiweth, a startlingly perceptive nephew and just about every soldier in Rohan, it is an error of judgment that you need not repeat."

In spite of herself, Gúthwyn smiled at the thought of Elfwine evaluating and dismissing potential suitors, surrounded by armed guards staring menacingly at each candidate. As silly as the image was, however, there was some truth behind it: unlike her days in Mordor, she now had a host of family and friends to look out for her. They could not protect her from the demons of her past, but they would ensure that she avoided such nightmares in the future.

"We have a busy day tomorrow," Éowyn announced then, drawing Gúthwyn out of her reverie, "and I believe you have enough to think about this evening. Can I have your word that you will at least consider what I have said, regardless of what you ultimately choose to do with my advice?"

Surprised, Gúthwyn nodded and inquired, "You ask no more of me?"

Éowyn gave her a parting embrace, then rose to her feet. "Although it is my hope that you will find someone to wed, that decision is not mine to make. Only you, and you alone, can decide whether or not to fall in love."

As the White Lady bade her goodnight and left the room, Gúthwyn could not help but feel rather gratified.


	50. Raniean Drops In

**Chapter Fifty**

"What think you so far of the colony?" Legolas asked Gúthwyn the next afternoon, looking closely at her as they strolled through one of the numerous pathways in the forest. It was practically a garden in its own right, with a multitude of flowers and herbs on either side.

"It is wonderful," Gúthwyn responded sincerely, though the same could not be said of the weather today: she had long ago started wearing her cloak, and despite the extra layer was still rather chilly. "I can tell how much work you put into it." Since the start of the tour, she had seen a plethora of trees which not even Emyn Arnen could boast, numerous gardens—many complete with fountains and pools of water—and stunning architecture which seemed to wend its way around the branches, rather than interfere with nature.

By now their exploration was coming to a close, as the sun would be setting soon and it would be too dark for them to continue. Éowyn and Faramir were well behind them, as they were walking at a far slower pace and had insisted on not making Legolas and Gúthwyn wait for them. Éomund's youngest daughter rather suspected that they wanted some time alone; she did not know whether to grudgingly accept this, or be angry with Éowyn for stranding her with Legolas.

Not that she feared overmuch: Legolas was as cordial and kind as ever, and if worse came to worse she could always call for help. Yet she found that she was not afraid—in fact, she might have even been enjoying herself. In spite of Éowyn and Faramir's absence, she had been able to relax in Legolas' company and maintain a steady flow of conversation.

"I have but one question," she announced, turning from the exquisite scenery back to the Elf at her side.

"And what might that be?" Legolas inquired with a smile.

"Does your colony have a name?"

Chuckling, Legolas replied, "There have been suggestions, but no title has yet stuck out in my mind as fitting."

"It must be nice, to have the luxury of an eternity to make decisions," Gúthwyn mused wistfully. If only she had centuries upon centuries to determine whether or not she wanted a husband…

"Yes and no," Legolas replied seriously. "While it is often liberating to have thousands of years in front of you, since it will rarely be too late to set things right, such time eventually becomes wearisome. The burdens of the world weigh heavily upon one who has witnessed many an age—regret, sorrow, decay. It is my belief that if mortals understood what an endless existence truly means, they would be less eager to obtain it."

Gúthwyn mulled over his response, trying to imagine what could possibly be considered a downside of immortality. "If someone you knew were to die," she began slowly, "would you never see them again unless you yourself were killed?"

"Correct," Legolas answered somberly.

Frowning, Gúthwyn said, "Then perhaps I do understand, or at least perceive the drawback to eternal life. Many of my friends and family have perished, and knowing that I might never reunite with them would be torturous."

"Aye, it is difficult," Legolas agreed, staring off into the trees as if deep in thought.

Gúthwyn glanced up at him, but his face was quite expressionless. "Have you ever lost someone close to you?" she asked tentatively, praying that he would not consider her prying.

"I have been fortunate in life," Legolas responded, looking at her once more, "and have been parted from few I hold dear. Yet I will never forget seeing the slaughter of my people at Helm's Deep—nor will I ever forgive myself for my failure in that hour."

His words were filled with such raw, unconcealed grief that Gúthwyn felt terrible simply beholding it. She knew how much he had beaten himself up over not being able to kill the Uruk who had caused the explosion of the Deeping Wall, though the creature had been so bent on its task that no amount of arrows would have felled it in time. She also knew that Legolas's feelings were further compounded by his guilt at being the only surviving Elf, the only one of his companions to return to his home and family.

Legolas was now scrutinizing the forest, unwilling to meet her gaze. By now they had slowed to a halt and were standing beneath a large tree whose branches arched out across the path. Hesitantly, unsure of herself at first, Gúthwyn slowly reached out and tapped him lightly on his arm. The initial contact shocked her: she could hardly believe that she had followed through with the gesture.

If anything, Legolas was even more surprised than her at the voluntary touch. His eyes widened slightly as he turned back towards her; afraid of what his reaction might be, Gúthwyn pressed quickly on. "What happened at Helm's Deep was not your fault," she reminded him firmly. "No one could have stopped that Uruk."

Legolas was unconvinced. "Because of my incompetence," he insisted, "none of those Elves will ever walk as we are now through the forests of their homes."

"They died fighting for a cause they believed in," Gúthwyn replied forcefully. "They knew the odds were against them and that they were unlikely to return home, yet still they came to Rohan's aid. It was a valiant service for which my people are forever in debt to yours."

For a long time, Legolas was silent. Gúthwyn was beginning to regret having tried to console him, for clearly she had only raised painful memories for him; but before she could think of a tactful way to change the subject, he glanced back at her. "Thank you," he said quietly, his deep blue eyes focusing in on hers.

"Y-You are welcome," Gúthwyn murmured, stumbling slightly as she lost her concentration on aught but his gaze.

He smiled at her and, in order to avoid lingering in a moment where she felt exposed and vulnerable, she briefly returned the expression. Then, as quickly as possible without seeming rude, she started walking again. Legolas fell into place alongside her, and for a time there was peace.

Then, out of nowhere, an Elf dropped from the branches above them and landed less than a foot in front of Gúthwyn.

Éomund's daughter screamed in terror and leaped backwards, forgetting that she had nowhere to run—only a forest in which the Elf would have the upper hand. She lost her balance in the process, and would have fallen to the ground had Legolas not grabbed her by the arms and pulled her against his sturdy frame, steadying her.

"Raniean," Legolas said tersely. When Gúthwyn trembled, his grip on her tightened for the briefest instant, but he let go so quickly that she could almost imagine that it had never happened. Certainly, she did not have time to panic.

Raniean paused only long enough to narrow his cold eyes at Gúthwyn before pointedly addressing Legolas, his words undoubtedly harsh. Legolas's answers were curt, his tone making it evident that Raniean was not welcome. The conversation did not last long. Raniean soon turned and disappeared further up the path, though not without sending a glare towards Gúthwyn that made every hair on her body stand painfully on edge.

"What—" she began when she and Legolas were at last alone, but the expression on his face stopped her.

"My apologies for his behavior," he said merely, embarrassed.

Gúthwyn shook her head. "It was not your fault," she replied.

Legolas looked as if he were debating whether or not to respond, but an instant later he frowned and cocked his head as though listening to something. It took a full thirty seconds before Gúthwyn was able to hear it. By then, Éowyn and Faramir were so close that their footsteps barely had time to herald their arrival.

"Sister?" Éowyn demanded immediately, upon catching sight of the two of them. Faramir was beside her, surveying the path as a soldier might scan a battlefield for any imminent threat. "What happened?" the White Lady continued, bewildered. "I could have sworn that you were yelling…"

Legolas stepped forward and calmly explained the situation to Éowyn and Faramir, allowing Gúthwyn the space she needed to catch her breath and calm herself. She noticed that Legolas's account portrayed Raniean in a significantly more positive light: the Elf had been hunting game from the vantage point of a tree, when he had seen Legolas and dropped down to speak with him. Gúthwyn, unused to such an action, had understandably taken fright. Legolas then assured Éowyn and Faramir that he had discouraged Raniean from such behavior while their human guests were present, since he suspected that his friend had underestimated the affect he would have on Gúthwyn.

Éomund's youngest daughter stiffened when she heard this, realizing that Raniean had targeted her with his actions—and that he must have enjoyed the sight of her leaping away from him in terror. For a moment, doubt seized her: was this further proof that Legolas was the exception, that more Elves were like Haldor than not? Yet Trelan and Faelon had always been kind to her…

"Perhaps we should retire for the rest of the afternoon," Éowyn suggested, watching Gúthwyn concernedly.

Gúthwyn was about to agree in relief. She was about to say that yes, she was tired, even though she was not. Or perhaps she would plead a headache, despite her feeling absolutely fine. Essentially, she was seconds away from hiding behind Éowyn's offer, using her sister to shield her from her fears. In other words, being wholly, completely, utterly cosseted—when what she really needed was to take courage and face what she was so afraid of.

"I would rather stay out here," she said, so quietly that Éowyn at first did not hear her. Legolas, however, did, and his eyes were round with surprise.

"Come again?" Éowyn inquired.

Gúthwyn cleared her throat. "I-I would not mind staying," she responded, louder.

"As you wish," Éowyn conceded after a pause, looking rather taken aback—yet not unpleasantly so.

This time, when the walk resumed, Éowyn and Faramir did not fall behind. Relieved more than she cared to admit, Gúthwyn asked the White Lady, "Sister, how are you feeling?"

"Well, thank you," Éowyn replied, beaming. "Aside from the expected morning sickness—which, let me assure you, does not so kindly restrict itself to the early hours—I have no complaints."

"Wait until you can no longer fit into your clothes," Gúthwyn pointed out mischievously, recalling one of Lothíriel's chief complaints about pregnancy.

Éowyn rolled her eyes, retorting, "I would ask you to sew new garments for me, but…"

Gúthwyn flushed as the others had a laugh at her expense: she still had yet to produce a completely even row of stitches. She found herself glancing at Legolas and Faramir, wondering if they thought any less of her because she was completely unversed in the arts that a woman of her status was expected to be proficient in. Faramir, she suspected, did not—after all, Éowyn was far from conventional—but what about Legolas?

Surely female Elves were nothing short of flawless in their needlework, their dancing, their singing, and of course their beauty; why, then, would Legolas want to be friends with a woman who ranked so poorly in comparison? Did he not inwardly cringe at how unskilled, how educated she was?

"Gúthwyn?"

Éomund's youngest daughter started, looking around to see who had addressed her. Then she realized that Éowyn, Faramir, and Legolas were all watching her, apparently waiting for some sort of response. "I-I am sorry," she apologized, turning bright red at the latest evidence of her shortcomings as a lady. Hopefully, her attention had not wandered for too long. "What were you saying?"

"We were discussing plans for tomorrow," Éowyn informed her. "Legolas just asked if we were interested in spending the day at the waterfall, picnicking—and swimming, should you dare this late in the season. How does that sound to you?"

Wonderful. The entire conversation had changed in her absence. "Perfect," Gúthwyn agreed heartily, hoping to make up for her rude behavior.

"One more thing, baby sister," Éowyn replied, looking rather amused.

"Yes?" Gúthwyn asked warily.

"This will require you to wake up before noon."

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><p><em>To my favorite nephew,<em>

_Little one, you would never believe where I am right now. I am at your friend Legolas's home! Auntie Éowyn, Uncle Faramir and I are visiting this week. There are hundreds of Elves here—you would like it very much. Today we are having a picnic—_

Peals of laughter broke through Gúthwyn's concentration, causing her to look up from the letter she was writing to Elfwine. Her gaze fell on Éowyn and Faramir, who were standing by the water's edge. Faramir had evidently kicked water over Éowyn's ankles, prompting the White Lady to retaliate by sending a cold spray in his direction. Faramir chose not to escalate the aquatic assault; instead, he leaned towards his wife and offered a peace treaty of gentle kisses.

Gúthwyn watched the Steward for a moment, marveling at how joyful and content his expression was. She knew it was her own fault that she rarely saw him as happy as he was now; it was a regret that had come slowly into being over the past three months, ever since she had realized that hating him for a long-ago crime would not change what had happened. She could not quite bring herself to like him just yet, but she was doing her best to be cordial to him.

Under normal circumstances she might have joined them, even if she ultimately wandered away; yet her stomach was still aching from the food she had ingested during their picnic. Either there were strange ingredients in Elven fare, or she had unknowingly eaten too much—and now the mere thought of moving in her present condition was enough to make her groan. She had long ago excused herself from further activity, pleading nausea, and still felt as if she might burst at the seams.

Rubbing her aching belly, she tried to focus on the task at hand. She had received a letter from Éomer the day of the journey to Legolas's colony, indicating that her nephew was still grief-stricken over her departure from Rohan. Gúthwyn had immediately endeavored to find a way to cheer Elfwine up, and prayed that a description of life in an Elvish community would help.

Elfwine's state of distress had not been the only cause for worry that Gúthwyn had detected in Éomer's correspondence. Although he never explicitly said so, it seemed that her brother still had yet to remotely reconcile with Lothíriel. In his letters, she was referred to only as "my wife"—and even then, it was obvious that the term was not endearing. Despite Gúthwyn having explicitly inquired after the queen's health and the mending of her relationship with the king, Éomer ignored her questions and instead wrote about his son.

More than anything, Gúthwyn wished she had worked harder at keeping her rivalry with Lothíriel a secret. While she could not deny what a relief it was to not be the target of cruel gossip on a daily basis, she would have endured slander and far worse if it meant keeping her brother blissfully unaware. She hated what she had done to his family, and every day she thought of how she might repair the damage. Thus far, she had not come up with any idea worth pursuing. Nor did she dare ask Cobryn for help, clever though he was: he would berate her, not understand her.

"How are you feeling?"

Gúthwyn glanced up to see Legolas approaching her, a concerned expression on his face. He came from the direction of the surrounding forest, having walked off into the woods shortly after their mid-afternoon fare. Gúthwyn had not marked his return. "Better," she assured him, setting down her letter and securing it in place with a small rock. "I think I need only wait a little longer to recover."

"These herbs might help," Legolas said, crouching down at the edge of the blanket and holding out a few small shoots. "They can usually cure the worst of stomach ailments. All you have to do is chew them."

"Th-Thank you," Gúthwyn replied, touched that he had gone to such trouble to help her. She leaned forward to take the proffered plants, examining them curiously. At first glance the leaves were an ordinary pale green, yet when she held them closer to her nose she caught a whiff of something both fresh and minty. Somewhat dubiously, she broke off a small shoot and put it in her mouth. Despite its aroma it settled bitterly on her tongue, and she could not help but grimace as she chewed.

"I should have warned you about the taste," Legolas apologized, noting her disgust with a small grin.

"It is fine," Gúthwyn ground out, forcing the herb down her throat.

Legolas quickly got to his feet and went down to the water, where he produced a flask and began filling it. Gúthwyn opened her mouth to protest that he need not inconvenience himself on her account, but by ill-timed chance one of the leaves went down the wrong pipe. She began choking, yet also attempting to conceal her discomfort; the result had her hunched over and silently gagging.

"Gúthwyn?" Legolas questioned worriedly, kneeling beside her again.

Éomund's daughter responded with a wheezing, rattling breath.

"Drink this," Legolas urged her, holding out the water he had drawn.

Gúthwyn accepted the flask reluctantly, albeit gratefully. The sudden rush of water down her throat washed away the offending herb, allowing her to breathe freely again. "Thank you," she murmured, setting down the container.

"Are you all right?" he inquired, watching her closely.

"Yes," Gúthwyn confirmed, recovering slightly. "A thousand thanks."

"Wait a few minutes, and the medicine will take effect," Legolas assured her.

Gúthwyn nodded, having no other choice but to do as he said.

"May I sit?" Legolas asked, gesturing to the empty stretch of blanket beside her.

After a moment's hesitation, Gúthwyn replied, "You may."

Legolas slowly lowered himself to the ground, maintaining a foot's distance between them. Gúthwyn felt comforted by the familiarity of this courtesy, and she was able to smile at him as he met her eyes once more. He returned the gesture, looking pleasantly surprised. "To whom are you writing?" he inquired, glancing down at the letter that lay in front of her.

"Elfwine," Gúthwyn answered wistfully. "I can hardly believe it has been a full season since I last saw him."

"Is there a chance that Éomer might take him to visit you?" Legolas inquired.

Gúthwyn hesitated. "He might come when Éowyn's child is born," she said slowly, "but not before then. His duties will not permit it." Rohan was still in the process of whittling down the debt it had accumulated during the War of the Ring, as well as rebuilding the agricultural infrastructure that had been destroyed under Saruman and Gríma's watch. Eight years had done much to lessen these tasks—and in fact, Dol Amroth had finally been repaid not long ago—but by no means was the Riddermark on even footing again. Éomer had to work tirelessly to maintain his kingdom; that he did so exceedingly well and still found time for his family made him a man Gúthwyn was incredibly proud of.

"How are he and Lothíriel faring?" Legolas asked quietly.

Gúthwyn sighed. "Not well," she responded sadly. "I fear that I have irreparably damaged their marriage."

"What happened with Lothíriel was not your fault," Legolas reminded her firmly. "She should not have tormented you so, had she desired to be at peace with Éomer."

Gúthwyn shook her head. "I should have…"

"What could you have possibly done?" Legolas pressed her. "Éomer would have found out sooner or later."

Although Legolas was probably right, Gúthwyn could not shake the feeling that she was somehow culpable for Éomer having discovered the truth the way he had. "I just feel terrible about what Éomer and Elfwine are going through—I never wanted them to be hurt. If only I could figure out a way to…" She trailed off, raking through her brain yet again to come up with a solution.

"You truly wish to help Lothíriel, in spite of all she has done to you?" Legolas questioned, looking astonished.

"To help Éomer and Elfwine," Gúthwyn corrected him. "I feel terrible for her, yes, but I would be lying if I claimed that my brother and nephew were not greater concerns. I would not have their family destroyed on my account."

Unlike Cobryn or Éowyn, Legolas did not attempt to dissuade her—a kindness for which she was exceedingly grateful. "What are you going to do?" he asked simply.

"That is the problem," Gúthwyn admitted anxiously. "I had hoped that after I left, Éomer and Elfwine would be able to spend more time with Lothíriel. Yet this is not the case: it is to my knowledge that my brother completely avoids his wife, which will only make the situation worse. I do not want my nephew to grow up in a household like that."

"Which means that, somehow, you must repair Éomer's relationship with Lothíriel," Legolas finished.

Gúthwyn nodded eagerly, glad that Legolas understood. Unfortunately, "There are also other issues that need to be addressed. Part of the problem is that Lothíriel does not speak Rohirric, which sets her at a distance from the rest of the population—and contributes to her resentment. If only I can take care of that, and then perhaps get Elfwine to play with her once in awhile, and finally convince Éomer to give her another chance…" She groaned, and buried her face in her palms. "I might as well join the ranks of the Valar for performing such a miraculous feat."

There was a moment of silence, and then Legolas put a tentative, albeit comforting hand on her shoulder. It was a simple, brief act, yet Gúthwyn felt as if a shock had just raced through her entire arm: she still was not able to quell the nervous tremors that occurred whenever she and the prince came into close contact. She forced herself to ignore these remnants of her fears from Mordor as Legolas said, "I have no doubt that you will succeed."

His faith was reassuring, if unfounded. "Thank you," she murmured politely, unconvinced.

Sensing her doubt, Legolas replied, "Given enough time, you will find a way to overcome these obstacles. I know it as well as I do my own name."

Gúthwyn at last lowered her arms and put her letter to Elfwine away, but she continued to bite her lip in consternation. The background noise of Éowyn and Faramir's laughing, breathless skirmishes was a stark contrast to the gloom she felt settling upon her, and she envied their happiness.

"How is your stomach?" Legolas inquired then, temporarily distracting her.

"Completely recovered," Gúthwyn announced, surprised by how quickly Legolas's remedy had worked. "Thank you for the herbs—they seem to have helped tremendously!"

"Excellent," Legolas replied, grinning as he got to his feet. He then extended a hand to her, as if he would help her stand. Gúthwyn looked up at him in confusion. "Will you go with me to the water?" he asked gently. "There is something I want to show you."

For a moment Gúthwyn hesitated, wondering what she would be getting herself into if she agreed. Then she swallowed, steeled her nerves… and voluntarily took Legolas's hand.


	51. Fire and Ice

**A/N:** Am officially back at college for my sophomore year! Awesome. Okay, next order of business: I was asked on my Formspring (a link to which is in my author profile) whether or not I would upload .pdfs of the Rohan Pride Trilogy. Coincidentally, I had literally just converted them into .pdfs for a friend of mine who has a Nook - so, I figured I'd share them with you guys as well! So, if any of you guys have Kindles or Nooks or other such e-readers, or just don't want to have to log onto the Internet all the time to reread parts of the trilogy (you brave souls, you), you can download .pdfs of the first three books here: http:/ /anolinde. livejournal. com /180973. html (remove the spaces). You'll notice that the first hundred or so pages of Alone have been heavily edited, as I turned in that portion as a writing supplement for one of the colleges I applied to. Recovery is currently not available, since I have ten yet-unpublished chapters on the Word document - as well as notes I've made to myself about necessary corrections and upcoming plot points. If you download them, let me know how they work!

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Fifty-One<strong>

"This is madness," Gúthwyn gasped, clinging to the slippery stone for dear life. "How are you not falling?"

Her query was directed at Legolas, who was balanced perfectly on the narrow ledge that struck out from the rock wall above the water.

"Do you need help?" Legolas called back, retracing a few of his steps so that he could reach her if she required his assistance.

Gúthwyn adamantly shook her head, covering a sharp intake of breath as she lost her footing for a harrowing instant. "This—better—be—worth it!" she panted, slowly inching forward. She determinedly avoided looking down: the last time she had done so, it had been to realize that she was ten feet above the frigid waters and in perilous danger of tumbling off the ledge.

Legolas was quiet, but when she glanced at him she noticed that he was biting back an amused smirk. "Oh, shut up," she muttered to herself.

"I said nothing," Legolas pointed out, still grinning.

_Curse those Elven ears,_ Gúthwyn thought, blushing furiously at her mistake. "I cannot believe you talked me into this," she growled, though to be fair Éowyn had also played a significant role in convincing her that she should undertake this insane adventure. Said insane adventure consisted of climbing up this abominable ledge—which ran up from the shore and along a sheer rock wall to the waterfall itself—in order to reach a cave purportedly behind the falls, from which she would supposedly see… Well, she did not know what, since Legolas was being so infuriatingly vague about what lay in store.

"Sister, how are you faring?" Éowyn called from the water's edge.

"Tell me, Éowyn," Gúthwyn yelled back, her voice strangled as her feet briefly slipped and she narrowly escaped a tumble into the pool below, "how on Middle-earth did you make it all the way up?"

"The sun was stronger then than it is now," Éowyn replied, exchanging an amused glance with Faramir, "and it kept the rocks dried."

Gúthwyn rolled her eyes. "Great," she grunted, looking around for the next handhold.

"Are you sure you do not need help?" Legolas questioned, drawing nearer.

She nodded vehemently, not trusting herself to be able to maintain her footing if Legolas was so close beside her. She could see a small outcropping of rock that would be perfect for her to grasp, if only she were able to reach a little further… Stretching out, she leaned over and rose onto her toes, trying to grab the stone.

"Gúthwyn—" Legolas began, a sharp note of worry in his voice.

Frustrated, Gúthwyn moved her left foot out just a bit more… and promptly lost her balance. Before she had time to correct her mistake, she felt her body weight shift to the side, leaving her dangling over the edge and giving her a terrifying glimpse of the freezing water below.

Her hand slipped, and she gave an alarmed shriek as she toppled head-first off the ledge.

"Gúthwyn!" she heard Éowyn and Legolas simultaneously cry. Éomund's youngest daughter barely heard them over the roaring in her ears, the rushing of her body towards the surface; and then she flipped, mid-air, so that she landed flat on her back. All the wind was knocked out of her as the icy waters closed in above, the temperature a shock to her system.

She had never been so cold before. Dazed, she paddled towards the light, rewarded a second or two later when her head broke the surface and she could inhale again. Yet she was having difficulty drawing breath: every muscle in her chest seemed to have seized up, so that opening and closing her mouth in a frantic bid for air was as useless as a fish doing the same on dry land.

"Sister, are you all right?" Éowyn demanded worriedly, stepping further into the depths of the pool.

"Cannot—breathe—" Gúthwyn wheezed through chattering teeth, clutching at her sternum with one hand while trying to keep afloat with the other.

There was a light _splash_ beside her, and she turned to see that Legolas had hopped in the water. Unlike her, he appeared completely impervious to the cold now seeping into Gúthwyn's very bones. "That fall must have knocked the wind out of you," he said concernedly, treading water at her side. "How do you feel otherwise?"

"F-F-Freezing," Gúthwyn whimpered, clutching her arms to her chest and leaving the task of keeping afloat to her legs.

"Can you swim to the shore?" Legolas asked, watching her worriedly.

Gúthwyn nodded: it was not a long distance, though here the water was so deep that she could not touch the bottom of the pool.

"Let me know if you are tiring," Legolas urged, swimming effortlessly alongside her as she struggled and flailed her way to dry land.

Gúthwyn grunted something that approximately resembled "I will," still struggling to breathe normally. All she wanted now was a fire—a bright orange, warm, flickering fire… with tongues of heat that would lap at her skin until the ice was gone…

"Faramir!" Legolas called, jolting her back into the present. He was still keeping pace with her, and in fact had drawn closer to her. "I brought some blankets with us for drying off—can you bring them over here?"

Faramir turned around and hurried away, making for the clump of trees where the horses had been tethered. Éowyn then came forward to assist Éomund's youngest daughter the final yard or two out of the water; Gúthwyn practically collapsed in her arms, having at last reached safety.

"Sister, you are cold as death!" Éowyn exclaimed in alarm, placing a palm on Gúthwyn's cheek. The tiny imprint of warmth briefly alleviated the younger woman's misery, but it quickly faded. "Come," the White Lady said, helping her further up the bank. "We will have you warmer in a few minutes."

Gúthwyn allowed herself to be steered towards the site of their picnic. For reasons unbeknownst to her, she could scarcely walk; her legs were rebelling against her, refusing to go where her mind directed them. She fell against Éowyn so often that the other woman could barely support her, but Legolas seemed reluctant to step in and help. It was not until Éowyn stumbled that the Elf gently ducked in and draped one of Gúthwyn's arms across his own shoulders, greatly alleviating the White Lady's burden.

"Are you all right?" he asked Gúthwyn, who had instinctively drawn a sharp breath at his touch.

Gúthwyn pressed her lips together and nodded, not wanting Legolas to leave all the lifting to Éowyn. She was still very relieved, however, when they reached the picnic blanket and she could be free again. As soon as she made contact with the ground, she curled into as tight a ball as she could manage and attempted to retain what was left of her body warmth.

Shortly thereafter, Faramir brought over all the blankets he had been able to find. He handed them one at a time to Éowyn, who draped them across Gúthwyn's shuddering shoulders. By now Éomund's youngest daughter was convulsing uncontrollably, her body wracked with shivers.

"We should head back and get her in front of a fire," Legolas muttered uneasily to Éowyn.

The thought of a fire was wonderful, but Gúthwyn's hands were trembling so violently that she could not imagine how she would grasp Sceoh's reins.

"We also need to get her out of these clothes," Éowyn said in agreement, gesturing towards the garments that were plastered against the younger woman's skin.

"I-I-I am st-still here," Gúthwyn pointed out, attempting to dry herself with the towels. Her fingers refused to cooperate, however, and she had made no progress by the time Éowyn noticed and took over. "I-I c-c-can talk!"

She heard Faramir, who was beginning to collect the rest of the items on the picnic blanket, give a small laugh that quickly turned into a cough. Legolas merely smiled.

"W-W-What?" Gúthwyn demanded indignantly.

"Are you getting any warmer?" Éowyn asked instead of answering, running the innermost blanket over Gúthwyn's quaking arms and shoulders.

"N-No," was the miserable reply.

"Gúthwyn, I am so sorry," Legolas apologized, crouching beside her so that she did not have to crane her neck in order to look at him. "Had I known this would happen, I would never have—"

"I-I-It is f-fine," Gúthwyn interrupted him. It was not his fault that she had been clumsy and slipped, after all. "I-I sh-sh-should have b-been m-m-more careful."

"Nay, for _I_ should have realized that the way would be too difficult."

Gúthwyn shook her head, but was unable to otherwise respond on account of Éowyn choosing that instant to begin drying her hair—which subsequently jostled her so much that speech was impossible.

"Shall I prepare her horse, or will she need to ride with someone?" Faramir inquired then, having finished disassembling the remnants of the picnic.

"Sister, do you think you can manage on the way back?" Éowyn questioned her, momentarily pausing in her drying to allow Gúthwyn the opportunity to reply.

"I-I will be f-f-fine," Gúthwyn insisted, not wanting to inconvenience Éowyn even further—for she would not share a horse with Legolas or Faramir.

"She shall try the journey," said Éowyn, lifting her head and turning to her husband. "Will you bring Sceoh to us? It would be best if she did not have to walk far."

"I-I am _f-fine_," Gúthwyn ground out, embarrassed. Faramir ignored her, however, and started leading Sceoh over to the blanket—or trying to, anyway, for Sceoh shied away from the Steward's unfamiliar presence and resisted following him. Observing Faramir's trouble, Legolas rose to his feet and quickly went to the man's aid. Gúthwyn heard him softly speaking Sindarin to Sceoh, gradually placating the horse enough to take the reins without struggle.

A moment later, Sceoh was at his owner's side. Legolas somehow convinced him to kneel, an act which Sceoh had never before consented to do. Even in her wretched state, Gúthwyn found herself marveling at the power of the Elven tongue—that it could succeed where Rohirric failed.

With Éowyn's assistance, Gúthwyn was able to clamber onto the stallion's back and clutch at the reins. Éowyn then secured the blankets around her, ensuring that none would fall off during the ride. Gúthwyn stared bleakly at the ground when her sister was done, hoping it would not be long before she was back at her room in the colony—the fireplace in which she was now very grateful for.

Her vision was suddenly filled by a concerned Legolas, whose keen blue eyes gazed up at her. "I feel terrible," he admitted, "for causing you harm. I have not been a very good host, I fear."

"Y-Y-You had nothing t-to do with my cl-cl-clumsiness," Gúthwyn assured him.

Legolas looked at her for a moment, as if trying to discern whether or not she secretly blamed him for the accident; then he vowed, "I shall make it up to you, I promise."

With that ambiguous remark, he left her side and went to where Faramir was readying his steed. "Lord Faramir," Gúthwyn heard him say, "do you remember the way back?"

"Aye," Faramir confirmed.

"Then with your leave, I will ride ahead," Legolas announced, "so that I can have Gúthwyn's room warmed in advance."

Éomund's daughter started in surprise; but before she could so much as glance gratefully at Legolas, he had already leaped upon Arod and was galloping away into the trees. In his wake, there was a brief silence. Then came the gentle clip-clopping of hooves, and a soft hand on Gúthwyn's shoulder.

"Come, sister," Éowyn said. "Let us go back."

Though she felt as if her legs were frozen, Gúthwyn was able to nudge Sceoh into a reluctant trot. She fell in line behind Éowyn and Faramir, thinking longingly of the shelter that lay not too far in her future. Fortunately, Sceoh did not give her trouble this time: he sensed that her discomfort was not due to fear, and as a result was not skittish beneath her.

While in reality quite short, the ride back seemed endless. Despite the thick blankets Gúthwyn had been ensconced in, her wet clothes hampered their ability to dry her and her soaked tresses only made the situation worse. The wind in her face, normally cause for but minimal wincing, was now a source of complete and total agony. _As if I am not cold enough!_ she thought unhappily as the evening air slapped her cheeks.

By the time they reached the first of the colony's dwellings, Gúthwyn was so relieved by the journey's end that she did not even care when many an Elf stared at their party in confusion. When the horses came to a halt in front of Legolas's home, she took a moment to gather her bearings and then set about dismounting.

As she slid rather ungracefully off of Sceoh, she noticed that a small group of Elves had gathered nearby. An uncomfortable prickling sensation crawling up her spine told her that they were watching her; nor did she think that their gazes were friendly. Swallowing, she surreptitiously glanced in their direction.

The first she saw was Raniean, whose head dipped as he muttered something to one of his companions. The other Elf smirked and glanced disdainfully at Éomund's daughter, who was suddenly vividly aware of her current resemblance to a drowned rat. Pushing her limp hair out of her eyes, she inched closer to Éowyn and tried to ignore the cold stares of the others.  
>"Can you make it inside?" Éowyn asked her, unaware of the reason behind Gúthwyn's sudden anxiety. The younger woman tried to nod, but the movement was ruined by a sneeze.<br>"I hope you do not fall ill," Éowyn remarked worriedly, walking alongside Gúthwyn towards the entrance to the dwelling. "Perhaps we should send for Nestadan—"

"No," Gúthwyn quickly interjected, not wanting the healer to go out of his way in order to treat what would likely amount to no more than a cold, if anything. "I-I am fine."

"Yes," Éowyn responded with a sigh: "your saying that is precisely what worries me."

Not for the first time that day, Gúthwyn saw Faramir stifling a grin at her expense.

Legolas met the three of them at the door. "How are you?" he immediately asked Gúthwyn, his face taut with anxiety. "Has your condition gotten any worse?"

"No," Gúthwyn answered, just as Éowyn declared the opposite.

"It is likely that she will come down with a cold," Éowyn said, talking over Gúthwyn's repeated denial. "She has already begun to sneeze."

"I-It is n-nothing—" Unfortunately, Gúthwyn's attempt to discredit her sister was interrupted by a sneeze.

"Hopefully, rest will cure whatever ailment it may be," Legolas said. "We have prepared your room to accommodate the current circumstances."

"Th-Thank you," Gúthwyn stuttered, her knees knocking together beneath her blankets.

"You are most welcome," Legolas replied gently. In a slightly louder tone, now addressing Éowyn and Faramir as well, he added, "Please, follow me."

They trailed after him as he walked down the corridor lined with paintings. This time, Gúthwyn did not examine any of the artwork; she was too cold. The warmth of the dwelling had amended matters somewhat, but what she really needed was to fully dry her hair. Before they had reached her chambers, she sneezed again.

Faramir excused himself along the way to duck into his own quarters, but Éowyn remained at Gúthwyn's side. Legolas led them into the latter's room, where a wonderfully hot fire was burning. Gúthwyn instantly gravitated towards it, shivering at the abrupt change in temperature.

"Thank the Valar," she breathed, tilting her head towards the hearth so that her locks might dry as well. Though she sneezed once more, she felt some of the cold receding in the face of the merry flames. Knowing that she ought to properly express her gratitude towards her host, she turned to Legolas and said, "A thousand thanks—this is perfect."

Pleased by her approval, Legolas walked over to the bed and set about pulling back the covers. Surprised, Gúthwyn was about to tell him that he need not do such a menial task for her; then, she realized that he was taking out a warming pan.

Éowyn sent an equally astonished glance in Gúthwyn's direction as Legolas set aside the pan, then put the covers back to retain the newly produced heat. "I thought this might help," he explained, noticing the sisters' stares. "Do humans not use—"

"Oh, yes, occasionally," Éowyn assured him. "It is only that—"

"—we fear we are creating an excessive amount of work for you," Gúthwyn finished, her speech greatly improved by the fact that she no longer felt in danger of freezing to death.

Legolas seemed surprised by their concern. "Not at all," he told them. "In fact, it is the least I can do, in light of the part I played in Lady Gúthwyn's mishap." Before either of the women had time to protest, he added, "I will give you some privacy so that she can change into drier clothes. There is a screen beside the wardrobe, should you need it."

He was gone before either of them had a chance to thank him. As the door closed, Éowyn raised an eyebrow. "I have never seen him so hospitable," she remarked.

Gúthwyn frowned in confusion. "Normally he is not the best of hosts?" she asked, taken aback by her sister's comment.

"No, of course not—quite the opposite. I am sorry, for I was unclear," Éowyn apologized. "I was merely observing that he is especially attentive as far as you are concerned."

"Unless his guests make a habit of falling into frigid waters while visiting his home, then I daresay his partiality is reasonable," Gúthwyn replied. As she spoke, she crossed the room and opened her dresser. Pulling out the warmest nightgown she could find, she ducked behind the privacy curtain and changed quickly.

There was a slight pause before Éowyn responded. "Either way, he is a most commendable host."

"Indeed," Gúthwyn agreed. It was difficult not to feel embarrassed when she compared her hospitality at Meduseld to that of Legolas's. She cringed when she thought of how he was doing everything in his power to assist her, though she had so often gone out of her way to avoid him.

"We had best finish drying your hair," Éowyn said as Éomund's youngest daughter stepped out from behind the privacy screen. "Let me see one of those blankets. Are you still cold?"

"Only a little," Gúthwyn answered, obediently sitting down on the edge of the bed so that Éowyn could set to work. "The fire has helped tremendously."

"Let us pray that you do not fall ill," Éowyn told her seriously.

"If I do, I will not have you taking care of me," Gúthwyn responded adamantly. "I would not want your child to be affected, should the sickness prove contagious."

Although Éowyn had been rubbing her tresses with one of the blankets, now there was a brief hitch in her motions. Gúthwyn could not see her expression, but she imagined that her sister was glancing down at her stomach—which, though still slender, was starting to display hints of roundness. Before long, as the White Lady cheerfully predicted, she would not be able to fit into her gowns.

As the drying resumed, Éowyn said, "Worry not. What with all the concoctions Nestadan has me imbibing weekly, it would take a strong infection indeed to harm the baby."

"Nevertheless, a small precaution cannot hurt," Gúthwyn pointed out.

"You, dear sister, focus too much on the welfare of others—and not enough on your own," Éowyn reprimanded her.

"I am fine," Gúthwyn asserted.

Éowyn rolled her eyes. "I never associate truth with those words."

"You do not trust me?" Gúthwyn asked indignantly.

"Not when it comes to being a fair assessor of your health," Éowyn told her.

Gúthwyn sighed. Unfortunately, her sister was right. Hoping to distract the White Lady, she inquired, "What are you most looking forward to about being a mother?"

"You are changing the subject," Éowyn retorted; but her gaze was now thoughtful, and she appeared to be contemplating the matter quite seriously. At last, after a moment of careful musing, she replied, "I believe that what I am most anticipating is being able to watch my child smile, to see him or her healthy and happy. I know it sounds silly, but—"

"Of course it is not silly," Gúthwyn immediately scoffed. "It is your own son or daughter! Or both, if mayhap you are bearing twins."

"Faramir might faint if that were the case," Éowyn said laughingly. "He is already nervous enough about whether he is fit to be a father."

Gúthwyn's brows lifted, but she chose not to comment—for well did she remember Faramir's difficulties in getting along with Elfwine.

"I have told him, naturally, that he is being foolish; but he maintains that, though he is excited for our firstborn, he is apprehensive about his parenting skills. I believe our dear nephew may have frightened him a bit."

Gúthwyn could not help it: she chuckled. "Elfwine tends to have that effect on many a full-grown warrior."

"He is quite a handful," Éowyn agreed. "Yet an adorable handful, nevertheless."

A long sigh escaped Gúthwyn's lips. Not only did she miss her nephew so much it hurt, but she also sorely envied the joy that was about to enter Éowyn's life. Never did she hate Haldor more than when she thought of the children she would never have because of him, because he had destroyed her and made her terrified of giving herself to another man.

"I am sorry, baby sister," Éowyn murmured then, though she could have only guessed at some of Gúthwyn's thoughts. "It was not my intent to upset you."

Gúthwyn shook her head, shrugging off the apology. "Nay," she replied, "it is what I must learn to live with."

"You are learning to live with it because you have not given yourself a choice in the matter," Éowyn argued. "There are always other paths."

"Like what?" Gúthwyn demanded, forgetting for a moment that they were talking about her separation from Elfwine. Yet when Éowyn blinked, visibly taken aback, she came to her senses and took a deep breath. "Forgive me. I should not have snapped at you. I am exhausted—perhaps I should turn in for the night."

Éowyn set aside the blanket and rose to her feet. "Is there aught else you need?" she inquired as Gúthwyn slid under the covers of her bed, taking care to draw them tightly about her. The bed pan had done wonders: she felt as if she were sitting right in front of the fire.

"No, thank you," she told her sister, her eyelids already fluttering. Éowyn smiled at the sight.

"Goodnight, Gúthwyn."

One mumbled "goodnight" later and Gúthwyn was alone, wrapped in a cocoon of comforters and halfway into the realm of sleep. Before she closed her eyes for the last time, she realized that she had never found out what exactly was behind the waterfall… and then everything turned dark.


	52. Elfwine's Plan

**Chapter Fifty-Two**

When Éomund's youngest daughter awoke the next morning, she fervently wished that she had not. She felt horrendous: her head was hot, pounding, and stuffed with one of the worst colds she had contracted in many a year. Uttering a muffled curse, Gúthwyn rolled over and tried to fall back asleep—yet her efforts ultimately proved fruitless, for she could no longer breathe through her nose.

Groaning, she contemplated getting out of bed to retrieve a washcloth for her forehead, but eventually decided that she was far too tired—to say nothing of the exceedingly comfortable mattress—to make the trek. _Please let this malady pass within a few days,_ she prayed silently. Although illness would provide her with an excellent excuse to avoid the company of other Elves in the colony, she hated being sick and had grown rather attached to her recently improved health.

She had been lying there for the better part of an hour, continuing to weigh the effort of getting out of bed against the benefit of a cool rag upon her brow, when there was a knock on the door.

_That must be Éowyn,_ she thought, relieved. "Come in!" she called.

The door opened slightly, and there was a flash of golden hair as Legolas stepped in. "Good afternoon," he bade her, smiling.

"Afternoon?" Gúthwyn cried in dismay, stunned by how late she had slept. After all, she had retired quite early the day before.

"Just past twelve," Legolas confirmed. "How are you feeling?"

"Terrible," Gúthwyn moaned, propping herself up against her pillows. "How did that water not affect you at all?"

"Being an Elf does have its advantages," Legolas jested, though his face was lined with concern. "What is wrong?"

"I now have a cold," Gúthwyn informed him, "though it is nothing serious."

"If your state is 'terrible,' then of course it is serious," Legolas replied. "Do you have a fever?"

Gúthwyn placed a palm on her forehead, carefully gauging the temperature. "My brow is hotter than normal," she admitted, "but I do not believe it is significantly so."

Almost before she was aware that he had even moved, Legolas was at her washbasin and dipping a cloth into the cool water. Gúthwyn wanted to protest, embarrassed that he was doing this for her, but the words died in her throat as Legolas approached her. She gazed up at him apprehensively, wondering what he would do—yet he merely handed her the rag, allowing her to put it on her forehead herself.

"Thank you," she murmured, relaxing back against the pillows. Her feet kicked at the comforters until they had dislodged enough to expose her toes to the outside air, further cooling her.

"You are most welcome," Legolas responded. "I meant to check in on you last night, but when I returned I was told by Éowyn that you had already gone to sleep. Did you rest well?"

"I did," Gúthwyn told him, "though, given my current condition, I wish I had not awoken."

"Would you like to see our healer?" Legolas asked, frowning. "He may be able to give you something to ease your discomfort."

"N-No, thank you," Gúthwyn said, trembling at the thought of an unknown Elf being permitted to examine her. "I-I will be fine in but a few d-days."

"Are you certain?" Legolas pressed her.

"Y-Yes, thank you," Gúthwyn responded. Seeking to change the subject, as well as to satisfy her own curiosity on a different matter, she inquired, "What use have Elves for a healer? I thought disease was a stranger to your race."

"That does not mean we cannot suffer injury," Legolas pointed out gently. "Furthermore, many Elven healers learn the remedies of Mankind in addition to our own, for we have long shared Middle-earth with mortals."

Gúthwyn nodded in understanding. "Have you ever required the services of a healer?" she asked curiously.

"Very rarely," Legolas answered. "Fortunately, I have escaped most battles with little more than a scratch."

_That is more than I can say,_ Gúthwyn thought wryly. A long, white line still stretched across her stomach where a rock had gouged her during the Battle of Helm's Deep—a wound that Legolas, in fact, had healed, despite her severe misgivings.

"You are very lucky," she replied, rather envious.

"So are you," Legolas told her seriously. "To escape from Mordor, and then come back to rescue Hammel and Haiweth, required no small amount of good fortune."

"I hardly 'escaped,'" Gúthwyn pointed out, wracked with guilt over the harm she might have brought to Frodo—and all of Middle-earth—had her designs succeeded. "I was sent, and not for a noble purpose."

"Yet few who enter Mordor ever return to free lands, save to loot and pillage," Legolas responded. "To not only do so, but go back and retrieve others, is nothing short of miraculous."

Gúthwyn flushed at his praise. "I did only what I had to do."

"I know," Legolas said with a smile. Getting to his feet, he remarked, "It has been long since your last meal. Do you feel well enough to have something substantial, or would you prefer a simple broth?"

"You do not have to get me anything," Gúthwyn assured him, embarrassed. Surely Legolas had other activities he would rather be devoting himself to than taking care of an ill guest? "I am quite all right."

Yet Legolas merely raised an eyebrow and stood there, waiting patiently for her decision. Gúthwyn pretended to fiddle with her sleeves for a time, hoping that he would desist; but when she finally glanced up again and he was still watching her, she knew that he would not be dissuaded. "Broth, I suppose," she murmured, dark splotches forming across her cheeks. "Th-Thank you."

"I will return swiftly," Legolas promised. He then exited the room, leaving Gúthwyn alone with her confused thoughts. She could scarcely comprehend why Legolas was so attentive to her, given the way she had treated him for years. He was certainly not to blame for her accident by the waterfall, so why did he feel the need to exceed his duties as a host?

_He must not want Éowyn to worry overmuch about me, since she is already concerned enough about her child,_ she reasoned.

In truth, she was surprised that her sister had not already been in to rouse her. Éowyn was not one to allow her to sleep the day away—then again, under normal circumstances Gúthwyn was not recovering from a plunge into icy waters. _How unladylike of me,_ she thought, a small grin emerging on her face as she contemplated what Lady Míriel's reaction to such a sight would be.

While Éomund's daughter was waiting for Legolas, she decided to finish her letter to Elfwine. Pride swelled in her chest as she recalled his previous correspondence to her, his very first after a long spell of merely signing his name after Éomer's. She could only imagine how much effort he had put into the shaking letters, the quivering vowels and trembling consonants. As a reward, she decided, he deserved a story.

Wondering whether someone had brought her things back to her chambers, Gúthwyn straightened and surveyed the room. At length she spotted her bag, tucked neatly in the corner between the wardrobe and the door. Now, unfortunately, came the matter of getting up—and with a pounding headache, such a feat was remarkably easier said than done.

She allowed herself another ten minutes to lie in bed, and justified her laziness by internally composing the letter to her nephew. At length, however, she removed the wet cloth from her brow and set it aside. Tentatively sticking her legs out over the side of the bed, she planted her feet on the cool ground and used her arms to push herself to a standing position. _By the Valar,_ she thought, marveling at the soreness permeating throughout her entire body, _I must have hit the water with more force than I realized!_

Her legs ached as she began hobbling over to her bag, and she was further hindered by an awful pounding sensation in her head. She winced when she had to bend down to retrieve the letter; such a simple task, yet made almost unbearably difficult by her current discomfort.  
>"You should not be out of bed."<p>

Gúthwyn started when she heard Legolas's simultaneously disapproving and amused voice. Glancing up, she grinned ruefully in his direction. "I wanted to finish a letter to Elfwine," she explained. "I did not think that crossing the room would be so objectionable."

Legolas smiled and shook his head. "Is it common for mortals to overexert themselves, or is that just you and Aragorn?" he teased her.

Gúthwyn flushed, but chose not to take the bait. "Speaking of mortals," she replied, repressing a groan as she rose to her feet, "have you seen my sister?"

"She was ill this morning," Legolas responded as he walked to Gúthwyn's nightstand and set down a bowl of steaming broth. "Not enough for her health to be endangered, for she assured me that it was only a strong bout of morning sickness, but enough to confine her to bed for a couple of hours. She is swiftly recovering as we speak."

"She will be all right, then?" Gúthwyn pressed him anxiously.

Legolas confirmed that Éowyn would be perfectly fine. "I am confident that she will visit you before the afternoon is out," he predicted.

Content, Gúthwyn began the somewhat arduous trek back to her bed. "I fear that we have not been ideal guests thus far," she apologized, relieved when the mattress welcomed her body. Elfwine's letter she put to the side, for now; there would be plenty of time to finish it once Legolas left.

"Do not blame yourself for what happened to you on my watch," Legolas told her. "I should have waited another day to bring you behind the waterfall."

"If you insist on claiming culpability," Gúthwyn said, "then perhaps there is a way you can make amends."

"How so?" Legolas inquired attentively, though he was pulling up a chair as he spoke. "Please," he added, taking the bowl from the nightstand and holding it out to her, "have some of this."

Gúthwyn obediently accepted the soup, glad that it did not scald her hands. "I should like to know what you wanted to show me," she declared earnestly, "since pursuit of it has bedridden me."

"Fair enough," Legolas conceded with a grin, lowering himself into the chair. "Unfortunately, words cannot do justice to the sight—but I shall endeavor to do my best. Do you remember the hour in which we began our climb?"

Gúthwyn's eyes narrowed in confusion, but still she answered: "Aye, we went just before sunset."

"When the sun is low enough in the sky for its rays to touch upon the waterfall," Legolas said, "the cave behind the water is wondrous to behold. The mist turns golden, so that the entire place is lit up as if it belonged in Valinor."

Gúthwyn had only a vague image in her mind of the home of the Valar, but what Legolas was describing sounded majestic indeed.

"The sun seems to cover every inch of your skin," Legolas continued, "as if you are bathed in light—and the curtain of water shines so brilliantly that it is blinding to look at. I fear," he finished, "that my description is nowhere near sufficient."

"You have certainly said enough," Gúthwyn replied sincerely, "for I now sorely wish that my clumsiness had not ruined our outing."

"Perhaps, should you visit again, we can make a second attempt," Legolas suggested lightly.

Gúthwyn smiled, though she could not bring herself to verbally commit to seeing the Elven colony a second time. Instead, she avoided responding outright by spooning some broth into her mouth. "I shall write to Elfwine of my misadventure," she announced. "I daresay he will be amused by my fall."

"You will have to assure him that no lasting harm was done under my lapse of judgment," Legolas hastily interjected.

"On the contrary," Gúthwyn answered with a grin, "mayhap I will recount a daring rescue by the bold Elf Leggy."

Legolas looked at her, and she at him; then his lips twitched, and she broke out into laughter. "'The Adventures of Leggy,'" she quipped between giggles. "'As told by Auntie Gúthwyn to the esteemed Prince Elfwine.'"

"I might have to read such a story," Legolas replied with a chuckle. "I fear, however, that my role would be highly exaggerated. I hardly rescued you—indeed, I all but caused your accident."

"Elfwine need not know that," Gúthwyn said mischievously, but her words were followed by a loud sneeze that prevented her from elaborating.

"How are you feeling?" Legolas asked immediately, his mirth fading.

"Fine," Gúthwyn fibbed, only to receive a disbelieving look. "Really, I—"

At that moment there was a knock on the doorframe, halting their conversation. Gúthwyn looked up to see Éowyn, her face pale but her disposition otherwise normal. "Am I interrupting?" the White Lady queried.

"Not at all," Legolas insisted, getting to his feet and gesturing for Éowyn to join them.

"Are you all right?" Gúthwyn worriedly inquired when her sister stepped inside the room.

"I should be asking you that," Éowyn retorted, giving a small smile that briefly lit up her wan features.

Gúthwyn folded her arms across her chest and awaited the answer to her question.

"My nausea has passed," Éowyn conceded, rolling her eyes. "And now for you: Faramir has gone to practice his archery, so I have plenty of time to ensure that you are not straining yourself."

Legolas turned to Gúthwyn. "I will leave the two of you alone, but I shall be nearby if you should need aught else."

"Thank you," Gúthwyn answered, knowing that such words were insufficient to fully describe her gratitude. "I-I appreciate you taking some time out of your day to spend with me."

"You are most welcome," Legolas responded kindly. He departed from the room, vanishing as if into thin air. Gúthwyn watched him go, marveling that she had endured his company for so long—nay, enjoyed it—without the memories of Haldor ever obtaining a secure foothold. Perhaps the fact that he had been so concerned about her, so polite in his behavior and utterly unlike the Elf who had once tormented her, had made it possible for her to separate the two.

In Legolas's wake Éowyn appeared to have something to say, but she restrained herself. When at length she spoke again, it was to determine the state of Gúthwyn's health. The siblings whiled away the rest of the afternoon in pleasant discourse, culminating in the collaboration of a story for Elfwine.

* * *

><p>Elfwine didn't want to go home.<p>

He hated home, now that Auntie Gúthwyn was gone and Papa wouldn't talk to Mama and Mama wouldn't talk at all. Nothing was right anymore. He wanted to run away and find Auntie Gúthwyn and have her fix everything, but he didn't know where she was and Papa still wouldn't let him ride by himself.

"I'm hiding," he informed Firefoot, reaching up and touching Papa's horse. "You can't tell anyone where I am."

Firefoot looked down at him, and Elfwine knew he would keep the secret. Firefoot was his friend, after all. "Papa and Mama will never find me here," he boasted, pleased with his cleverness. "Then they'll be sorry."

He flopped down on the floor, plotting. Papa and Mama would be so worried that he was gone, they would _have_ to talk to each other. Papa tried to pretend different around Elfwine, but Elfwine could tell that he hated Mama. It was scary sometimes, how he glared at Mama when she said "good morning" or ignored her when she tried to ask him questions.

Elfwine knew Mama was mean, and he didn't like her because she had made Auntie Gúthwyn go away, but he also didn't like how she and Papa never smiled at each other anymore. It was wrong, all wrong. But if he could just sit still and wait, then they would try to find him. Together.

He sat still and waited, even though he was hungry. Then he sat still and waited some more. "They're so slow," he complained to Firefoot, fidgeting. It felt like forever since Mama had taken him outside and he had hidden himself while her back was turned. He hoped she would notice he was gone soon and then tell Papa, because he really wanted toast.

_Finally,_ Elfwine heard the door open. It was Papa and Mama! He jumped up, ready to tell them that they were being silly. But when Papa appeared in front of him, Mama wasn't there.

"Elfwine?" Papa asked, looking confused. "What are you doing here?"

Elfwine stared at him. Why wasn't Mama with him? They were supposed to be together! "Where is Mama?" he demanded.

"That is what I was wondering," Papa growled, in a voice that frightened Elfwine.

His plan wasn't working. Papa's face wasn't supposed to be turning red and his eyes weren't supposed to be getting small, and he definitely wasn't supposed to be mad at Mama. Something had ruined everything, but Elfwine didn't know what.

Just then, the door opened again and Mama's voice was there! Elfwine was glad, because now Papa and Mama could talk. Then everything could go back to the way it was before, and Auntie Gúthwyn would be able to come back. He stood there patiently, waiting.

"Éomer," Mama said, as if she didn't know why he was there. "What are you doing here?"

"The better question is, what is our son doing here?" Papa snarled, pulling the stall door open so that Elfwine could see Mama. "You bring him outside for a walk, and not ten minutes later I find him alone in Firefoot's stall! Have you any explanation as to why you left him unsupervised in a place where he could easily get trampled?"

"I looked away for but an instant, and when I turned around he was no longer there," Mama said quietly, her voice sounding funny. "I came in here to search for him."

"Perhaps you should have been paying more attention to his whereabouts in the first place, considering that he is only our son and the heir to this kingdom!" Papa spat, taking a step closer to Mama.

Mama started shrinking.

Elfwine didn't understand why Papa was getting it all wrong, because it wasn't Mama's fault at all. "Papa," he said, "I ran away!"

No one listened to him. "It was a mistake that anyone could have made," Mama insisted. Unlike Papa, her face was white.

"Interesting, then, how my sister always managed to keep an eye on him," Papa snapped.

"Éomer…" Mama's voice was soft, and Elfwine almost couldn't hear her. He crept closer, until he was at the stall door; neither Papa nor Mama noticed him. "I know you are angry at me for what happened with Gúthwyn, but will blaming me for everything bring your sister back? Will it even make you feel better?"

"Mama, stop," Elfwine whispered, terrified when Papa's hands turned into fists.

"How _dare_ you even _utter_ Gúthwyn's name?" Papa hissed. He was trying to be quiet so that Elfwine couldn't hear, but it wasn't working. "After everything you did to her, how _dare_ you even _question_ the way I treat you?"

"Because your behavior is not going to fix anything between us!" Mama cried.

"What makes you think I want to 'fix anything between us'?" Papa demanded. His shadow was covering Mama's. "The only reason I have not sent you back to Dol Amroth is because you are Rohan's queen, and because Gúthwyn is under the delusion that my son needs the mother he was cursed with!"

Mama's mouth opened, but Papa kept talking. Elfwine didn't think that they even remembered he was still there. "Why should I _fix_ a marriage I now sorely regret, when you—the woman I _trusted_, the monster I was foolish enough to _love_—did everything in your power to destroy my baby sister's reputation? When you encouraged your maids to mock her in public, steal her possessions, and tear her clothes to pieces? When you arranged for your disgusting excuse of a brother to _rape_ her?"

Papa was now shouting so loudly that Elfwine clamped his hands over his ears and ran behind Firefoot. He knew he wasn't supposed to cry, because Papa never cried, but he couldn't help it now. "Papa, stop!" he chanted again and again, hoping that if he said it enough everything would change.

He must have been yelling, because soon Firefoot was moving and Papa was picking him up. As Elfwine was lifted, he saw Mama leaving the stables. Even from far away, he could tell that she was crying again.

"Elfwine, calm down," Papa said. He was speaking in the deep voice that Elfwine liked, but even Papa couldn't make anything better this time—because Papa was what was wrong.

"I ran away," Elfwine tried to explain, rubbing his eyes so that Papa wouldn't see how wet they were. "It wasn't Mama's fault!"

"Your mother should not have let you out of her sight," Papa told him.

He didn't understand. Elfwine began crying, because he had nothing else to do. At least Papa held him tighter, which he liked. Elfwine closed his eyes and wished very hard that Auntie Gúthwyn would come back. She would make Papa listen. She would make everything right.

When he opened his eyes again, he and Papa were outside of the stables. Elfwine immediately tried to be quiet, since he didn't want any of Papa's men thinking he was a baby. He didn't make a sound as Papa walked up the stairs to home, and even when they went inside he only sniffled.

Papa sat down at a table, keeping Elfwine on his lap. "Your mother and I are having some problems right now," he said, "and I am sorry that you have been caught in the middle. It is not what your aunt would have wanted," he added, sighing.

"When are you going to _stop_ having problems?" Elfwine asked, biting his lip.

Papa didn't answer, and Elfwine knew he wouldn't answer ever. He hated being a child, because grown-ups never told him anything important. Even Papa sometimes kept secrets.

"Papa?" he tried, remembering a strange word Papa had said to Mama that he had never heard before.

"Yes, son?" Papa ruffled his hair.

"What does rape mean?"

"_What?_"

Elfwine quickly realized that rape must have been a very, very, _very_ bad word, because Papa became stiff and his eyes turned dark and he looked so scary that Elfwine wanted to get away from him, except Papa's arms were too tight around him and he couldn't move at all.

"Did you hear what I said to your mother?" Papa demanded, staring at Elfwine.

Gulping, Elfwine nodded. "You said someone did it to Auntie Gúthwyn," he added worriedly. What if Auntie Gúthwyn had been hurt?

"Someone tried to," Papa corrected him, except something in his voice was different and Elfwine didn't know if he was telling the truth.

"But what is it?" Elfwine persisted.

It was a long time before Papa spoke, so long that Elfwine thought he had forgotten the question. At last he said, "When you are older, you will learn—but for now, know that it is something you must never, ever do to a woman."

"I won't, Papa," Elfwine promised, because he was a good boy.

Papa kissed the top of his head. "I know you will not," he replied. "But come, we shall have dinner."

"Will Mama eat with us?" Elfwine wanted to know.

"Not tonight," Papa said, his eyes scary again. Elfwine wished he hadn't asked. "It will be just you and I."

Elfwine sighed. He missed the dinners when Papa and Mama used to laugh with each other and hold hands under the table, which he saw even though they thought it was a secret. Now, they only looked at their food. Sometimes they talked to Elfwine, but never to each other. Mama used to try, but Papa never replied and one day she didn't try anymore.

Dinner with Papa was still fun, though. Papa told him a story and let him play with toys at the table. Then he brought Elfwine to bed—Mama was there when they came in, but she looked once at Papa and left without saying goodnight—and told another story. When it was time to go to sleep, he tucked Elfwine in and kissed him. "Sleep well, son," he said.

"Goodnight, Papa," Elfwine answered, already sleepy.

When Papa left, Elfwine thought about the new word he had learned: rape. He decided that he didn't like it, whatever it meant. Papa hadn't liked it, either, which made Elfwine uneasy. He was glad that it hadn't happened to Auntie Gúthwyn, though. Auntie Gúthwyn was already scared enough sometimes, especially around Leggy's friends—and he didn't understand why, because Leggy's friends were Elves and Elves were fun to play with. She was silly, obviously.

Elfwine snuggled under the covers, too tired to think anymore. He would ask Auntie Gúthwyn what rape meant later, he resolved; she would tell him. She shared everything with him. Content for the moment, he burrowed deeper into his blankets and closed his eyes.


	53. How to Climb a Tree

**Chapter Fifty-Three**

The rest of Gúthwyn's visit passed without incident, save for the occasional recurrence of the cold she had initially contracted after her icy submersion. She was not confined to her bed, though she rarely ventured outside of Legolas's household—she was hardly willing, after all, to brave encounters with strange Elves. Although Éowyn and Faramir occasionally left to go on long rides in the forest, Gúthwyn returned again and again to the gardens visible from her window.

To her surprise, she was rarely alone. Legolas often joined her, if only to provide company while she walked around. Gúthwyn had expected herself to be alarmed by this, for without Éowyn and Faramir as a buffer she was wholly in Legolas's hands—yet his constant presence turned out not to be unpleasant, for he always made her feel comfortable and not once did he overstep the boundaries that had been established between them.

On the evening before her departure, Gúthwyn was finishing the last of her packing and marveling at how far she had come since her first encounter with Legolas. She was by no means sorry to leave the colony, but she had enjoyed her time here far more than she had expected—which was to say, she felt quite neutral about the experience.

Legolas's kindness had undoubtedly tempered her fears, she believed, for had he not been such an excellent host her stay at the colony would have been riddled with anxiety. She now rarely thought of Haldor in his presence, so unlike the sadistic Elf had Legolas proven to be; and though occasionally an unexpected glimpse of him made her heart pound, she hoped that eventually this, too, would go away.

All in all, however, she was much relieved to be returning to Hammel and Haiweth. Cobryn, of course, was an esteemed and trustworthy caretaker—but she missed the children, despite her growing concern that they did not share the same sentiment. And though she had been resigned to the rift between herself and Hammel for years, she was increasingly alarmed by the similar path Haiweth seemed to be following. The girl had not mentioned Minas Tirith in weeks, nor had there been a second outburst concerning her intent to someday marry; yet the memories lingered, and they had become an uncomfortable backdrop to nearly all of Gúthwyn's interactions with her.

_Where did I go wrong?_ Éomund's daughter silently asked, folding the last of her shirts and closing her pack. _Why do they hate me now? Have I been so terrible a mother?_

Troubled, she walked to the window and gazed up at the stars. She had been hoping that the sight of them would soothe her, but the exercise proved futile and she continued to second-guess herself. Had she somehow done more harm than good in raising the children? Had the disintegration of their love and adoration been her fault, or had it been inevitable?

As she sighed, a shadow soared across the ground in front of her—and there was a rustling noise as it landed, catlike, in the oak tree beside her window. Gúthwyn gasped in alarm, withdrawing behind the curtains and peering out nervously. She had sometimes heard the Elves singing at night here, and knew that they did not sleep as often as mortals; yet, still, the thought that one might be outside at this very moment made her tremble with anxiety.

"Gúthwyn?"

She exhaled in relief: it was Legolas, and not a stranger. Even so, she only emerged partially from her hiding spot.

"What are you doing?" she called up softly, addressing the highest branches.

"I had been filling out some paperwork"—Legolas's voice drew closer, until at last Gúthwyn saw him on one of the lower branches—"but it was rather tedious, and I decided to put it off until the morning."

"And you jumped out of a window instead?" Gúthwyn asked in bewilderment, craning her neck so that she could see the window in question. She had never been to the upper floor of the dwelling, in part because of what it contained. Éowyn had informed her earlier in the week that Legolas's quarters were located there, in addition to a library, numerous meeting-rooms, and the servants' lodgings; as such, Gúthwyn had avoided venturing anywhere near the second level.

"It was the quickest way out," Legolas answered, looking amused by her confusion. "I had planned to then climb down and make my way into the forest, but I am afraid I disturbed your rest in the process."

"No, not at all," Gúthwyn quickly responded, still trying to come to terms with the fact that he was talking to her from a tree. "I just finished my packing but a moment ago."

Reassured, Legolas replied with a smile, "You must be looking forward to seeing Hammel and Haiweth again."

"I am," Gúthwyn replied, firmly ignoring the voice in her head that suggested nastily, _Yet they might not say the same about you._ Looking first at the oak, then at Legolas, she inquired with an arched eyebrow, "Do you make a habit of climbing trees?"

"You do not?" Legolas asked. But for the sparkle in his eye, she would have thought him to be serious.

"There are no trees in Edoras," Gúthwyn pointed out, "and my shoulder only healed recently."

Legolas's face was a study in astonishment. "You mean, you have never climbed a tree?"

Gúthwyn hesitated, racking her memory. "I have not," she answered eventually. "Is it difficult?"

"Of course not," Legolas responded, still thunderstruck. "The hardest part is usually getting onto the first branch."

Éomund's daughter automatically glanced at the tree Legolas was perched on. Sure enough, there were a couple of boughs less than six feet from the ground. For a brief moment, she itched to go over and try. She immediately quelled her desires, however—it would be foolish, attempting to do so in a dress and with no one around but an Elf.

"How high can you get?" she nevertheless inquired, still intrigued.

"Sometimes to the very top of the tree," Legolas replied, "if the branches are supportive enough." After a pause, he added, "I still can scarcely conceive that you have not attempted this activity before."

"I would have, had I the opportunity," Gúthwyn said indignantly, perceiving a slight to her daringness.

"Had I known this earlier, I would have invited you to try your hand at it in the daylight and on a smaller tree," Legolas told her, a small grin tugging at his lips as he beheld her expression.

"A smaller tree?" Gúthwyn echoed, her mouth opening in mock outrage. "I may be a novice in the art of tree-climbing, if you will, but I have strength aplenty! I daresay I could manage to avoid falling."

"Are you certain?" Legolas inquired, now openly teasing her. "I seem to recall you tumbling into the pond this very week."

"That was _not_ my fault," Gúthwyn insisted, folding her arms across her chest. "The rock was slippery."

"Clearly, this is a matter we will have to settle during my next visit to Emyn Arnen. I will allow you the 'home tree' advantage," Legolas said with a smirk.

Gúthwyn's lips pursed, and for a dizzying moment she forgot everything about Legolas that had once terrified her. "Nay," she rashly retorted, "we shall settle this now, and upon that very tree." She pointed at the same oak in which Legolas was sitting.

Legolas was obviously startled: his mouth parted, then closed, then opened again until at last he managed, "You are wearing a dress."

"I will be out in a minute," Gúthwyn said defiantly, drawing the curtains shut.

Only then did she turn around and exhale, realizing what she had gotten herself into. What madness had allowed her to be provoked into this ridiculous challenge, or whatever it was, and convince herself that she would be perfectly safe climbing a tree with just Legolas for company?

_Do _not_ panic_, she ordered herself, annoyed with her weakness. Aside from the late hour and potential threat of broken bones, there was nothing sinister about the activity. Had Legolas not consistently proven himself trustworthy? She had already vowed to stop letting her past interfere with the present as far as Borogor was concerned—why could she not learn to do the same with Haldor?

No matter what, she resolved, she would follow through with this exercise. Steeling herself not to tremble, she went over to her pack and withdrew an outfit suitable for tree climbing. A quick glance towards the window showed that she could see nothing outside; yet, just in case, she hid behind her bed before she began to disrobe. Even then, she donned her leggings before removing her gown.

Once Gúthwyn had changed, she took a deep breath and approached the window again. When she pulled the curtains aside, she had to tilt her head almost completely upward to find Legolas again. He had ascended higher into the boughs of the tree, so that the interior of her bedroom was firmly out of his view. Relief washed over her. Either he had known that his presence would make her uncomfortable, or he had distanced himself instinctively. His kindness towards her had truly shown no limit.

"Legolas," she called up softly, for he was gazing up into the canopy of leaves above him, "I am back."

He straightened, and lightly hopped down to one of the lower branches. "Are you sure you want to do this?" he asked seriously. "You have already been harmed once on my watch this week."

"Yes, I am," Gúthwyn replied, in a tone displaying far more confidence than she herself felt. Swinging her legs over the windowsill, she jumped the few feet to the ground. Gazing up at Legolas, she asked, "What am I supposed to do first?"

For a moment, Legolas looked as if he were still struggling to overcome rather significant reservations. Then he sighed, as though succumbing to the inevitable, and made his way down the tree. "Do you see that branch to your right, about three feet from the ground?" Gúthwyn nodded. "Get onto that one first."

Bracing her hands on the branch—and at the same time praying it would support her weight—Gúthwyn jumped and then swung her leg up as if she were riding a horse. The landing was considerably more uncomfortable than a saddle, but it was still manageable. Pleased with herself, she glanced up at Legolas and smiled triumphantly.

Legolas smirked. "Now," he told her, "for the rest of the tree."

Gúthwyn rolled her eyes, refusing to be intimidated. Locating another branch which could be reached from her current position, she tentatively stood up and grasped the main trunk. After a moment's struggle, during which she determinedly ignored Legolas's muffled chuckling, she was able to wriggle her way up onto the next branch. By that point, her hands were covered in flecks of bark and she thought she might have pulled a muscle in her left arm. When she looked down, however, she was less than ten feet from the ground.

"Not that one," Legolas quickly interjected as she eyed a potential bough.

"Why not?" Gúthwyn inquired suspiciously.

Before she even had time to blink, Legolas was standing on the disputed branch. "Your options are limited from here," he elucidated, gesturing at his surroundings. Gúthwyn gaped at him, for he was perfectly balanced—and yet neither of his hands were grasping any part of the oak. "The closest branch leads to one that I would not trust with Elfwine's weight," Legolas continued, pointing to his left, "and you are not tall enough to reach this one," he finished, looking up. Gúthwyn followed his gaze and saw the bough in question, which indeed was too high for her to grasp.

"Then which one—"

"There," Legolas answered, motioning towards a branch just above where she was sitting. "Watch out for—"

Gúthwyn hissed as she banged her head, having eagerly glanced up to see what he was referring to. A few choice Rohirric swearwords escaped from her lips, prompting Legolas to raise an eyebrow.

"Remind me to teach you those later," she grunted by way of explanation, wincing as she gingerly rubbed the back of her head.

"Are you sure you wish to continue?" Legolas inquired, looking as if he were torn between amusement and alarm.

"Yes," Gúthwyn all but growled, determinedly grasping the bough. Standing, she curled her body around the limb and all but heaved herself over it. Though the exercise was far more difficult than she had imagined and she undoubtedly looked like an idiot, she was not about to give up now and lose further face in front of Legolas… was that laughter she was hearing?

"Forgive me," Legolas murmured when she glared at him. "I have never watched someone climb a tree for the first time."

"And I suppose you have always managed to do it perfectly?" Gúthwyn retorted, though the query came out as more of a gasp for air than anything.

"Not always," Legolas assured her, effortlessly keeping pace with her amongst a different cluster of boughs. "I had to learn when I was younger, just as you are now."

"How much further to the top?" Gúthwyn was unable to resist asking.

"Do you truly desire to know?" Legolas questioned, grinning.

Gúthwyn sighed, and paused for a moment to gaze upwards. She could see no end to the tree in sight: only leaves, leaves, and more leaves. Not even the tiniest star was peeking through the branches. Repressing the urge to grimace, she ducked her head down and continued to work. Though her arms were toned enough through countless hours at the training grounds, climbing a tree required the use of several different muscles, some of which she had not been previously aware of possessing.

It took the better part of half an hour, but with Legolas's steady encouragement—which occasionally veered towards gentle teasing—Gúthwyn finally came to the last cluster of boughs standing between herself and the top of the tree. Here, however, the branches were far apart and thinner than their lower counterparts. "Will all of these hold?" she asked worriedly, turning to Legolas in consternation.

"Not all," Legolas cautioned her, easily scaling the rest of the trunk. Now almost directly above her, he warned, "Some of the branches are weaker. This oak is older than even myself, and has weathered many storms. Tread carefully, for both your sake and the tree's."

Gúthwyn nodded and began examining her options, trying to identify the best way to start. "Can you see the stars from where you are?" she inquired as she searched, curious as to what Legolas could espy from his vantage point.

"Aye," Legolas replied, tilting his head up. Gúthwyn was prevented from following his gaze by the remaining foliage overhead; yet the night sky must have been a beautiful sight, for Legolas exhaled peacefully and fell into a thoughtful silence. Gúthwyn smiled to herself: she did not wholly comprehend Legolas's attachment to the stars, but there was something comforting about knowing that he was fully relaxed in her presence.

Remembering that she had a tree to finish climbing, she focused on her present dilemma: how to reach the nearest promising branch, which was too far away for her to simply extend a hand and grasp. Closer investigation revealed a smaller, narrower limb halfway between her and her target, which held when she gingerly planted a foot on it and tested her weight.

"How are you coming along?" Legolas asked then, turning back just as she stepped onto the smaller branch.

"Almost there," Gúthwyn panted, straining for the bough. "Thank the Valar for this br—"

A _crack_ rent the air at that very moment, providing a split-second warning before the branch she had been about to praise suddenly broke under her feet. Éomund's daughter gasped in alarm and quickly lunged towards the bough in front of her, catching it only by the tips of her fingers. Below her, she could hear the traitorous branch clattering down to the ground.

"Gúthwyn!" Legolas exclaimed in concern, immediately descending. "Are you all right?"

"I-I have nowhere to put my feet!" Gúthwyn cried in a panic, tightening her grip on the bough. Her legs were dangling beneath her, unable to find purchase on another part of the tree.

An instant later, Legolas was above her and holding out his arm. "Take my hand," he urged, even now waiting for her permission. "I can help you up."

Gúthwyn tensed, but under her current circumstances she had little choice in the matter. "A-Are you sure?" she inquired worriedly, delaying the moment of decision. "What if I pull you over?"

Legolas twisted to one side, allowing her to see that his other hand was grasping a different limb of the oak. "Please," he said earnestly, turning back to her. "Let me help you."

Gúthwyn nervously bit at her lip, yet there was nothing else she could do. After quickly praying that no harm would come to her, she held her breath and clasped Legolas's hand. Such was his strength that he was able to hoist her up with little to no effort on her part. He then set her down between himself and the trunk, a position which instinctively alarmed her. Afraid of being trapped, she quickly stepped away—and promptly lost her balance again.

Only Legolas's lightning-swift reflexes prevented her from a painful fall. An instant after she slipped, she felt his arms close around her and halt her progress. Desperate to keep herself from tumbling further downward, she grabbed at his shoulders: an automatic reaction, the ramifications of which she did not realize until suddenly both of them were still… until she became aware that their bodies were all but pressed together, and that their faces were mere inches apart.

For a moment, both of them were too stunned to pull back. Gúthwyn swallowed, having made the mistake of meeting Legolas's eyes. From up close, it was an unbidden reminder of the reason she had foolishly fallen in love with Haldor in the first place: that same deep blue gaze which never failed to make her heart pound and her breath catch in her throat.

"Forgive me," Legolas apologized a second later, blinking as if coming to his senses and moving away from her. Gúthwyn did not waver, having regained her balance on the branch, though she shivered a little as the air around her became colder. "I should not have…" Legolas trailed off, unsure of what it was he had actually done.

"I-It is fine," Gúthwyn replied, wrapping her arms around herself. "Th-Thank you for helping me."

"You are most welcome," Legolas said, despite his troubled visage. He appeared to be scrutinizing her to determine how much damage he had caused.

Embarrassed, though she could not quite place her finger on the reason why, Gúthwyn turned away and glanced up. From her viewpoint, she could finally see the stars above. The glimmering moon brightened the sky and painted the treetops silver, casting a pale light upon her surroundings that defeated her fear of darkness. She took a deep breath and tentatively ascended to the last branch of the oak, determined to finish what she had begun.

Luckily, the final bough was only a yard higher than that which she was sharing with Legolas, and she was able to reach it easily. When at last her footing was secure, she straightened and found herself peering over miles and miles of forest. It was as if she were in the midst of a static green sea. The far-off hills of Emyn Arnen looked like rolling waves—or what Gúthwyn imagined to be waves, for she had never been to the ocean—which were too distant to be threatening.

She shared the observation with Legolas, hoping to break the awkward silence that had fallen between them, and was surprised to hear a wistful tone in his voice as he replied, "I have often thought the same thing as well."

Confused, Gúthwyn asked, "Have you been to the Sea before?"

Legolas shook his head. "I have not, though I heard the call of the gulls when the Dead of Dunharrow ousted the Corsairs of Umbar from their ships—and ever since then, my heart has been filled with longing for it."

"Why not visit Dol Amroth?" Gúthwyn inquired, bewildered. Surely his was an affliction that could easily be cured. "The company you would find there might be undesirable, but perhaps Prince Imrahil would even let you sail on one of his ships."

"If I went," Legolas responded sadly, "I know that I would never be able to return to the forest. Middle-earth must remain my home for a little while yet."

"Y-You wish to journey to the Undying Lands?" Gúthwyn questioned, stunned. Though she was aware that scores of Elves had done so, she had never considered that one day Legolas might do the same. The news that he was planning to leave Middle-earth was troubling, perhaps moreso than she had expected it to be.

"It will be at least a hundred years before I make that voyage," Legolas informed her, noticing her disturbed countenance. "I still have much work to do, as far as the colony is concerned."

Gúthwyn let out a sigh of relief, a mark of how far her friendship with Legolas had come since their first meeting. "Good," she said simply.

Legolas looked at her in surprise, then smiled. Gúthwyn smiled back: for while it was strange to consider that she would no longer be alive when Legolas sailed into the West, she would rather concentrate on the present than cloud her mind with such thoughts. "Well," she said, sighing contentedly, "I made it to the top."

Legolas laughed at her declaration. "Now I know what Éomer meant when he referred to you as a handful," he joked. "It is well past midnight, but here you are in a tree because you would have me proven wrong."

Had Legolas been Cobryn, she would have elbowed him in retaliation; tonight, instead, she resorted to a mock glare. "I _told_ you I did not require a smaller tree to learn how to climb one."

Biting back a grin, Legolas replied, "I concede defeat."

Gúthwyn felt very pleased with herself, but then she recalled Legolas's earlier words. "It is well past midnight, you said?" she asked reluctantly.

Legolas nodded, and she sighed. "I should be in bed," she admitted. "Otherwise I will not awake in time for breakfast tomorrow, and then it shall be a long ride back to Emyn Arnen."

"Aye," Legolas agreed; "let us retire for the evening."

It took less time to climb down the tree than it had to ascend it, but the hour was late (or early) and Gúthwyn's arms were practically groaning when her feet hit the ground. They almost gave out beneath her when she hoisted herself up onto her windowsill, much to her embarrassment.

"Are you all right?" Legolas asked concernedly, noting her grimace.

Gúthwyn nodded. "Yes, I am fine," she replied, surreptitiously rubbing her sore bicep. "Well…" She paused, unexpectedly reluctant for the night to come to an end. "I suppose it is goodnight for now."

"Goodnight, Gúthwyn," Legolas bade her, inclining his head. "Sleep well."

"Thank you," she responded; but already he had turned away and was fading into the night, presumably to continue the walk that he had long ago abandoned.

Éomund's daughter watched him go, a faint smile on her face. "Goodnight, Legolas," she murmured, surprising herself with the use of his name.


	54. Fatherly Love

**Note: **Many of the views expressed here by Thranduil are found in _Morgoth's Ring_ (History of Middle-earth, Volume X) within a dialogue known as _Athrabeth Finrod ah Andreth_. Finrod, one of the speakers, is Galadriel's brother.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Fifty-Four<strong>

On a late December morning, it was the cool, grey hour just before dawn that found Legolas standing at the edge of a lagoon not too far from his dwelling. His eyes remained closed as he stripped off first his tunic, then his leggings; his other senses became heightened as a result, allowing him to hear every rustling leaf and calling bird. He inhaled the mossy scent of the forest and curled his toes around the grass beneath his feet, otherwise utterly motionless as a soft breeze caressed his bare skin.

Yet though the forest had long been his home, now he felt incomplete in a way that was wholly foreign to him. Moments like this, which had once filled him with contentment, now left him with a strange empty feeling: as if the experience was never quite satisfying enough, and that there was something he was missing.

_The Sea,_ he thought, exhaling. Ever since he had heard the call of the gulls, the pull of the ocean had fixed itself in his heart. In time, he knew, he would go to the Grey Havens and set sail for the West, passing into the Undying Lands from whence there was no return. That hour, however, had not arrived.

He had already decided to remain on Middle-earth until Aragorn drew his last breath and was laid to rest amongst the great kings of Gondor. He had known the man who was now called Elessar since the days when he had only been Estel, Hope living amongst the Elves in Rivendell under the care of Lord Elrond himself. He and Aragorn had been friends long before the days of the Fellowship, and Legolas would not forsake him until his time had come.

After exhaling, Legolas stepped into the cold waters until they lapped at his ankles, then his calves, and finally his thighs. When at last he stood waist-deep, he held his breath and dove under the surface. In what was becoming a rather frequent occurrence recently, he began pondering the differences between Elves and Men. He himself was impervious to the temperature of these waters—the same which had been perilous to Gúthwyn, and would have led to her death had she not been able to escape in time.

The thought of Gúthwyn's mortality made him frown in consternation as he emerged back above the surface. He had known Éomund's daughter for almost a decade, and in that time the only thing that had changed about her appearance was her fluctuating weight. Yet in a decade or two more, she would start to show the signs of age that all of her kind inevitably began to display. Movements that had once come naturally to her would then require effort, and she would no longer be able to bear the children she so wanted. In time, her dark hair would turn grey, then white, and her body would continue to betray her until even walking proved difficult. It was a grim fate that awaited the woman he had come to care greatly for.

Legolas sighed. The day he had befriended Aragorn, he had begun the difficult process of accepting the ephemeral nature of Men. He thought he had made peace with the fact that Estel would eventually no longer walk on Middle-earth—but then the events of the War of the Ring had thrust him into contact with hundreds of others who had a limited lifespan. Humans were not the only ones who could not live forever: Hobbits perished as well, and even Dwarves succumbed to eternal sleep. If Legolas lingered for but a thousand years, he would be the only member of the Fellowship left on Middle-earth.

It was a sobering concept, especially in light of the friendships he had made in Rohan. To know that Éomer, Elfwine, and Gúthwyn would all be gone within a century was both disturbing and saddening. He tried to imagine Gúthwyn's smile being a distant memory—it was a chilling thought, one that made him painfully aware of just how little time he had left with her.

He slipped under the water again, now swimming towards the falls, but thoughts of Éomund's daughter pursued him. He remembered the last night of her visit to the colony, and how she had been determined to climb the tree to the very top. The recollection of her stubbornness brought a grin to his face, as well as memories of the subsequent frustration that had only strengthened her resolve.

Breaking the surface, he took a deep breath and paused for a few seconds to observe the pinkness of what little sky he could see through the trees above. As the fresh air entered his lungs, he let his mind wander further ahead in time until it came to the moment when Gúthwyn had miscalculated the width of a branch and as a result had slipped into his arms.

He had danced with her in Éomer's hall, so the sensation was hardly new, but never before had he been so conscious of her flushed skin, her heartbeat, or her parted lips. Up close, the beauty he had occasionally acknowledged had chosen that moment to flood his every sense: her light weight against his sturdy frame, her clean scent, the delicate lines of her collarbone that rose and fell with her shallow breathing, and her pale pink lips so close that he could almost taste them…

Abruptly, he realized the direction in which his mind was turning—and was stunned by his impropriety. To be contemplating Gúthwyn in such a light… nay, he could not in good conscience continue. She would have been horrified to discover the nature of his thoughts, and the already shaky foundation of their friendship would have been shattered to its very core. For her sake, as well as for his, he had to learn to repress these unseemly desires.

Desires? Legolas frowned, suddenly disturbed. Was that what they truly had become? Yet it could not be—he could not _desire_ her, not in the way that a man might wish to marry a woman. He had assured himself of this but a couple of months before, when he had pondered the depth of his feelings for her while walking with her through Éowyn's gardens.

Just then, he heard someone calling his name from the surrounding trees. Legolas turned to see his hailer, still treading water.

"A message from your father has arrived," Trelan informed him, emerging onto the bank. "As always, it is 'most urgent.'"

Legolas grinned and, thanking Trelan for the notice, climbed out of the lagoon. "Today's council will be a long one, I presume."

"Of course," Trelan agreed with a smirk. "Which means, dear prince, that you will have precious little time to practice with your bow today."

"I will manage," Legolas replied, rolling his eyes as he dried himself. "After all," he added more quietly, "barring unexpected injury, I have all of eternity to train."

Trelan nodded, though not without a quick, questioning glance at his friend.

"What do you think my father has written about this time?" Legolas inquired as he dressed, unwilling to divulge his earlier thoughts.

Shrugging, Trelan replied, "When last he wrote he noted that the end of the mortal year is approaching, which will mark the tenth since the renewal of Eryn Lasgalen's contract with Dorwinion." Trelan was referring to the arrangement by which the Elves imported wine from a kingdom of Men in the northern reaches of Middle-earth. "He may wish for you to review the draft of a new agreement."

It was not a task to take lightly, yet nor would it require much work on Legolas's part. The contracts rarely varied in actual content, though occasionally the wording was altered in order to clarify previously vague points. He would set aside a few hours of the morning, then call his council together in the afternoon. A response would be on its way back to his father by nightfall.

As they crossed the threshold into the entrance hall in which Legolas typically received visitors, Thranduil's messenger approached them. A Silvan Elf by the name of Siniath, he was garbed in a travel-stained cloak and well-worn leggings. Only his tunic, which bore the insignia of Thranduil's house, marked his position.

"Greetings, Siniath," Legolas spoke, inclining his head. "I understand that you have a message from my father?"

Siniath bowed and held out a scroll. "King Thranduil requests a prompt reply," he confirmed. "He asks that I return with your answer."

A somewhat unusual stipulation, but not one that was completely unheard of. Legolas took the letter and assured Siniath that he would produce a reply by mid-afternoon at latest. Trelan then escorted the messenger to the quarters that had been set up for him, in which he could refresh himself and partake in a meal before embarking upon the journey back to Eryn Lasgalen, and Legolas was left alone to begin reading Thranduil's message.

He retreated into the privacy of his study, a spacious room next to his own chambers on the second level of the dwelling. Sitting down at his desk, which overlooked a beautiful garden planted mostly with seeds gifted to him by Éowyn, he broke the seal upon the parchment and began to read.

_Greetings from Thranduil to Legolas._

_My son, I trust that this letter finds you in good health and spirits. Please find enclosed a copy of a potential contract with the king of Dorwinion regarding the shipment of wine to Eryn Lasgalen, as I informed you about in my previous correspondence. I expect you to devote your fullest attention to the agreement and to return it to me with a list of any errors or discrepancies which your eye may detect._

_This is not, however, the only matter of importance which I must discuss with you. It has come to my attention that you are spending perhaps undue amounts of time with the king of Rohan's sister, Lady Gúthwyn. Your interactions with her of late have concerned a number of my contacts, who have reported a series of troubling incidents in which your behavior towards her has unsettlingly hinted at a deeper interest in her than would be appropriate._

_If these rumors are false, which I hope they are, I would have you confirm immediately that this is so. If they are true, then I pray that you abandon this foolish infatuation. Need I remind you that, in the entire history of our kind, there has only been one instance of love between an Elf and a mortal woman. Nor was their fate happy: Aegnor would not cleave to Andreth while there was war in Beleriand, and both perished before their time._

_It is not precedent alone which discourages love between Elves and Men. Men are oft called Strangers, for they do not belong in Arda. They are but guests, and their time in this land is all too fleeting. Thus Finrod noted of marriage between Eru's children: 'brief it will be and hard at the end.' When Men perish, they are utterly sundered from the Elves. For this reason, I must caution you against your attachment to Lady Gúthwyn._

_Furthermore, word has reached my ears that, even if one could set aside her race, there are other significant factors which should discourage you from pursuing her. In comparison even to Mankind, whom we sometimes call the Sickly, her health appears exceptionally weak. It is doubtful that she will have the full lifespan of her people, or that what little time she does have will not be plagued by ailments and illnesses. My correspondents have also indicated that she is severely underweight, to the extent that her ability to produce children is questionable. Nor does she have the intelligence which is expected from someone of her status, and indeed she has expressed no inclination to cure her lack of education. She is not a woman you will want at your side whilst ruling a colony._

_Legolas, I do not find fault with your dealings amongst mortals. I am well aware that you have closer ties to the Second-born than most of our kind, and indeed I am glad that you have allied yourself with Men of such repute as King Elessar and King Éomer. However, friendship is not the same as marriage: it is another matter completely to take a human as your wife, which some of my correspondents fear you might not be far from considering. Whatever your feelings for Lady Gúthwyn, I urge you to set them aside and concentrate on your duties as a prince and leader of your people._

_Until we next meet,_

_Thranduil._

Legolas stared down at the letter in his hands, stunned.

"Legolas?"

Trelan's muffled voice sounded through the closed door, accompanied by a knock.

"Come in," Legolas recovered enough to say, though he could not remove his gaze from the bluntness of his father's words.

"The messenger has been placed in his quarters—" Trelan began as he entered, then fell silent when he caught a glimpse of Legolas's profile. "Legolas? Is something wrong?"

"Look at what my father sent me," Legolas told him in a hollow voice, handing over the letter for his friend's inspection. Conflicting emotions warred within him, causing turmoil—they ranged from anger at the callous way his father had dismissed Gúthwyn, to the gnawing fear that Thranduil was right, to confusion about his own feelings on the matter.

Trelan read the message quickly, his frown deepening at each line. When he finished, he glanced up at Legolas. "Thranduil only has your best interests in mind."

"He said his 'contacts' alerted him of my… of my friendship with Gúthwyn," Legolas responded, taking the letter back. "Who? And why?"

"It is obvious, do you not think?" Trelan replied, raising an eyebrow. "Raniean has never concealed his hatred toward her. He is also close with your father."

Legolas had not wanted to suspect as such, but Trelan was right: Raniean had every reason to confide in Thranduil, though it disturbed the prince that his friend had done so without his knowledge. It implied that he, Legolas, had been keeping the nature of his acquaintance with Gúthwyn a secret… and, in turn, suggested that it extended beyond mere friendliness.

"Yet there was more than one correspondent," he finally pointed out. "I find it odd that my father would receive multiple warnings, when Gúthwyn has visited the colony but once."

Trelan knit his brow in careful thought. "Tirendil has accompanied you on trips to Edoras," he offered at length, referring to the older Elf who was frequently a part of Legolas's entourage. "He has freely admitted to being sent by Thranduil to watch over you. It may be that he shared Raniean's concerns and wrote to your father."

"All because she is human," Legolas remarked sadly.

"They only want what is best for you," Trelan answered levelly.

"It is beyond my comprehension, nevertheless, why my father thought it fitting to launch such an attack—not only on Gúthwyn's character, but her physical appearance as well," Legolas spoke, insulted by his father's outright disdain towards his friend. Thranduil knew not how caring and kind-hearted Gúthwyn was, nor how her smile was enough to instill cheer in its beholder. Thranduil knew not how passionate she was about her friends and family; nor how her stubbornness, that wild streak of pride within her, was often more endearing than frustrating.

"If he were relying on Raniean's account, then it is small wonder that his impression of her is not favorable," Trelan said grimly.

"I will have a word with Raniean," Legolas declared darkly, hot anger washing over him. "His attitude towards her is atrocious, regardless of the reason behind it. I know for a fact that he has gone out of his way to make her uncomfortable in the past—and this marks a new low in his treatment of her. Please, bring him here."

"He will not want to listen," Trelan warned as he headed towards the door.

"That is not my concern," Legolas answered harshly. "His behavior has gone unchecked for too long: it ends now."

Trelan's expression was perturbed as he exited the room, but Legolas found that his fury was only growing with each passing moment. He remembered all too well how, during Gúthwyn's visit to the colony, Raniean had jumped out of a tree and purposefully landed directly in front of her. He had clearly known that she would take fright and scream, judging by the amused and utterly unsurprised expression on his face, and the fact that he had not apologized—even sarcastically—was galling.

Trelan returned quickly with Raniean, who, if there was something to be said for the scowl marring his features, must have already been informed of the reason for his summons. "You called, my prince?" he inquired in a sardonic show of obeisance.

"Please, stay," Legolas said as Trelan made to leave.

Trelan closed the door, looking apprehensive.

"Read this," Legolas instructed Raniean, getting to his feet and crossing the room to hand his friend the letter. "Then, explain to me why you thought your role in this matter was in any way appropriate."

Raniean shot Legolas a contemptuous glance when he was done. "You are infatuated with a filthy human, and you find _my_ behavior questionable?"

An instant later, Trelan was struggling to keep Legolas and Raniean apart—for the tenuous thread of Legolas's patience had snapped, and he now wanted nothing more than to grab the other Elf and shake him, slam him against the wall, or whatever it took to make Raniean realize just how serious Thranduil's son was. "I will not tolerate your prejudice any longer!" he snarled, resisting Trelan. "You insult her one more time, and I swear to you, Raniean, from that hour forth you will be no companion of mine!"

Raniean's face darkened. "You would toss aside nearly three thousand years of loyalty for _her_?" he spat, stepping closer.

"Raniean," Trelan hissed, his grip on Legolas's arm tightening.

"I will have nothing to do with someone who cannot treat my friends—yes, even my human friends—with the barest amount of decency and respect," Legolas said forcefully, his eyes boring into Raniean's. "Though I have known you since infancy, your hatred has made you unrecognizable. Either learn to be civil around Gúthwyn, or do not trouble her with your presence in the first place!"

"You may think you love her now," Raniean retorted spitefully, "but what will happen when she is bent with old age and barely able to get out of bed? When perhaps she becomes forgetful and cannot even remember your name? You are blind to the weaknesses of her kind!"

"I see their weaknesses," Legolas shot back, "and I also see the weaknesses of our kind—yourself the best example of the pride and arrogance which too often lead Elves to scorn the race of Man. You see my friendship with Gúthwyn as something to fear, as something to revile; and so you tell my father that I am contemplating marriage with her, hoping that he will step in and discourage me from even associating with her!"

"There is nothing to be gained from associating with humans," Raniean declared, his lips curled in rage and his eyes wild with fury. "They are a useless race! Those disgusting, traitorous, crude, warmongering _pigs_ are a blight to Middle-earth. Too easily are they seduced by the likes of Morgoth and Sauron, by all that is dark and foul. They are worse than even the Dwarves!"

"Is that your answer, then?" Legolas demanded, disappointed and yet not surprised. "You choose to wallow in your hatred?"

"You know full well that I have my reasons!" Raniean exclaimed, his voice rising to a near shout.

"Not when it comes to Gúthwyn," Legolas replied adamantly, firmly meeting Raniean's livid gaze.

For a long moment, there was silence. Trelan's hold on Legolas gradually loosened, though by no means did he let go entirely.

"I will avoid her," Raniean finally said, his voice deadly quiet, "but woe betide you if you ever bring her into this colony as your wife."

Without another word he turned around and stalked away, slamming the door behind him. Trelan slowly released Legolas, glancing worriedly at him.

"That will not happen," Legolas quickly promised, not wanting Trelan to come to the wrong conclusion. "Gúthwyn and I are friends; no more." And that was all they would be—for Legolas would never jeopardize the fragile trust he had painstakingly obtained in Éomund's daughter, not for the sake of turbulent emotions whose nature he could only begin to guess at.

Trelan said merely, "I will find Raniean and see if he can be reasoned with."

"Nay, his is a malady that cannot be cured," Legolas replied bitterly.

"All the same," Trelan answered, "I will try." And he would have followed Raniean out of the room, had something not occurred to Legolas which prompted him to call out his friend's name.

"Yes?" Trelan inquired, pausing in the doorway.

"When you read my father's letter, why did you not ask me if his accusations were true?" Legolas asked, frowning. It now struck him as odd that Trelan had never questioned the verisimilitude of Thranduil's words, when they were at the very heart of the issue.

For a long time, Trelan looked as if he were weighing his response with immense care. "Because," he said at length, "I know that, when Gúthwyn was living in Rohan, you made far more trips to Eryn Lasgalen than were ever necessary."

As Legolas's eyes widened in shock, Trelan bowed and left the room.


	55. Library Tensions

**Chapter Fifty-Five**

"Well, this is embarrassing."

It was the remark of Galen, the young Ithilien Ranger, after Gúthwyn bested him on the training grounds for the third time in a row.

"I have several years' experience on you," Gúthwyn pointed out, noticing how his friends—Angran and Nendur, two brothers who were also recent recruits—were nudging each other and smirking.

"Yes, but…" Galen paused, having already made the mistake of citing her gender as a reason why he had once expected an easy match. It had cost him much of his dignity in the eyes of Angran and Nendur, who had witnessed all of Gúthwyn's indignation channeled into an assault too great for Galen to withstand. "I am a Ranger, and it is my duty to be able to defend myself."

"I have seen you do so well enough against Angran and Nendur," Gúthwyn replied with a grin, wiping the laughter from the brothers' faces. "With time and practice, your prowess will improve."

"By then, however, you will have had yet more experience," Galen reasoned despairingly.

"Ah, but soon she will be old and you in your prime."

The teasing comment came from Cobryn, who was reclining against a boulder on the edge of the training grounds and watching the two of them spar. Although he had been faithfully accompanying Éomund's daughter—and helping her practice—ever since Nestadan had allowed her to take up a sword again, only recently had he been able to sit on the sidelines and, as he put it, "helpfully critique" her technique.

"If I am old, then you will be ancient!" Gúthwyn retorted, for Cobryn was seven years her senior.

Galen looked on in bemusement, unsure of whether or not to laugh at their bantering. Gúthwyn could hardly blame him: after weeks of furtively watching the two of them spar, Galen had only just summoned the courage to invite them to join him, Angran, and Nendur. He had not yet grown accustomed to the no holds barred, often scathing repartee typically exchanged by his newfound sparring partners.

"I have been ancient for years," was Cobryn's self-deprecating remark, accompanied by a grimace at the cane beside him.

Gúthwyn felt a small, familiar twinge of guilt, though she knew he had never faulted her for her role in injuring his leg. "Again?" she asked Galen, not wishing to dwell on the memory.

Galen nodded. "Perhaps this time I will have more luck," he said optimistically, raising his sword once more.

Fifteen minutes and two defeats later, Galen had to take leave of Éomund's daughter and report with his companions to Beregond. The lunch hour was over, and the Rangers had other duties to fulfill. As the captain of Faramir's guard, it was one of Beregond's jobs to give Faramir's soldiers their assignments; and so Galen, Angran, and Nendur departed, leaving Gúthwyn and Cobryn to their own devices.

"You need more of a challenge," Cobryn remarked the instant the Rangers were out of earshot.

"Cobryn!" Gúthwyn scolded him, anxious lest one of the soldiers have exceptional hearing. "All of them are perfectly capable warriors."

"And none of them have made you work for a victory," Cobryn replied, getting to his feet with considerably concealed, yet considerable nonetheless, use of his cane.

"Well, there is hardly anything I can do in the way of finding new sparring partners," Gúthwyn answered, sheathing Framwine. "I am fortunate in that Galen, at least, was willing to challenge me."

"I still think the others dared him to," Cobryn said with a smirk. "He looked quite intimidated when he first approached you."

Gúthwyn rolled her eyes. "There was nothing for him to be intimidated about," she protested as they set out on the path back to vale. "At least, I hope not!"

"He is scarcely able to call himself a man, and we know he finds you comely—of course he was petrified of you," Cobryn said, chuckling. "And still is, likely."

A blush crossed Gúthwyn's cheeks as she elbowed her friend. She had never thought she would be flattered by a man's physical attraction to her, but with Galen there was no sense of a threat lurking behind his earnest exterior. Although she had no intentions of encouraging him, for indeed she saw him only as a wonderful gentleman, it was comforting to know that, for once, she was the one in the position of power. It was not like with Haldor, where she had been forced to endure his attentions; nor was it like with Elphir, with whom she had been obliged to enter marriage negotiations. Simply put, there would be no consequences stemming from Galen's interest in her.

After a short walk, Gúthwyn and Cobryn arrived at the main dwelling. Scarcely had they set foot inside when there was a loud shriek, followed by a rush of gold that nearly bowled them over. "Guess what!" Haiweth cried, practically bouncing up and down in front of Gúthwyn.

"What?" Éomund's daughter inquired, amused by Haiweth's behavior.

"Éowyn just got a letter from King Elessar, and he is having a winter ball!" Haiweth squealed, abandoning all sense of self-restraint and jumping for joy. "He has invited all of us, and Éowyn said that she will teach me how to dance properly!"

Gúthwyn and Cobryn could not help but grin: Haiweth's enthusiasm was contagious. "I am sure you will be a wonderful dancer," Gúthwyn predicted fondly, smiling up at the girl.

Haiweth beamed. "Now I just have to convince Hammel that he should dance, too."

Both Cobryn and Gúthwyn chuckled, knowing that Haiweth would only be wasting her time. Hammel may have made an exception for Aldeth, but it was unlikely that he would be willing to do the same in Minas Tirith.

"When is this ball?" Gúthwyn inquired, for Haiweth seemed to be as ecstatic as if they were leaving for the White City that very instant.

"In two weeks," Haiweth answered perfunctorily, looking pained that she would have to wait for so long. Then, however, she brightened: "But Éowyn said that we will go to Minas Tirith a couple of days earlier, and we will be able to watch everyone else arrive!"

"Everyone else?" Cobryn echoed, raising an eyebrow.

Haiweth nodded, pleased that they were relying on her for information—and obviously taking her role as messenger seriously. "There will be people from Lossarnach, Lebennin, and Lamedon," she explained, reciting the names of the principle fiefdoms of Gondor. "And, of course"—Haiweth's joy brimmed over, until she was grinning ear to ear—"from Dol Amroth!"

Gúthwyn paled. "W-Who from Dol Amroth?" she asked, her heart pounding.

"I-I am not sure," Haiweth admitted, biting her lip when she noticed Gúthwyn's less-than-thrilled reaction. "Éowyn only said Prince Imrahil."

"A-And what of his sons?" Gúthwyn pressed, thinking not of Elphir but of Amrothos, and of his cold hands wandering over her while his hot, alcohol-tinged breath slowly suffocated her. From the corner of her eye she saw Cobryn step closer, sensing her silent terror.

"I do not know," Haiweth confessed. "But if Imrahil comes, maybe he will leave Elphir to rule in his place?"

Elphir was the least of Gúthwyn's worries. "Yes, perhaps," she murmured. "I-I should speak with Éowyn."

Haiweth's face fell; Gúthwyn realized that the girl feared having to remain in Emyn Arnen whilst all of Gondor's nobility danced the night away at Minas Tirith. Too exasperated by this revelation—as well as the knowledge that, were Éomund's youngest daughter to refuse to attend the ball, Éowyn would step in and insist on taking Haiweth—to assure the fourteen-year-old, Gúthwyn hastily took her leave and went in search of her sister.

She found Éowyn in the other woman's quarters, staring out the window with her hands on her stomach—which was now noticeably protruding. The door had been left open, allowing Gúthwyn a moment to observe her sister undetected. As she watched, the White Lady glanced down at her belly, gently rubbing it back and forth. There was a content smile upon her lips that made Gúthwyn sigh in envy, for she desperately wanted what her sister now had promise of; yet the growing reality was that she would remain utterly childless for the rest of her life.

Just then, Éowyn's face tightened. Without further warning she lunged for a chamber pot next to her nightstand, whose presence Gúthwyn had not noticed until now, and began vomiting.

"Éowyn!" Gúthwyn gasped, alarmed. Hurrying into the room, she crouched down beside her sister and immediately started gathering back Éowyn's golden hair. "Are you all right?"

Éowyn uttered a muffled "thank you" when she was done, and nodded. "Just morning sickness," she explained, spitting out the last of the bile in her mouth.

Gúthwyn reached up to the water pitcher upon the nightstand and found a rag, which she wetted and handed to Éowyn. The White Lady quickly cleaned her lips, grimacing at the taste that lingered. "I am fine," she asserted, glancing up at Gúthwyn. "Sister, you need not look so pale!"

"Sorry," Gúthwyn apologized, though she could not help but feel frightened upon seeing her sister so vulnerable. "It is only… Well, I am used to being the one who is sick," she conceded.

Éowyn laughed a little, getting to her feet as she did so. "Nestadan assures me that my near-constant nausea will eventually pass, and your health has greatly improved in the past few months," she reminded Gúthwyn. "Now, was there something you wished to discuss with me before my pregnancy interrupted?"

Gúthwyn giggled at the remark, then remembered what she had come to inquire about and sobered. "I was told by Haiweth that there is to be a ball in Minas Tirith?"

Éowyn smiled. "Yes, there is—Faramir just got the letter today. Haiweth was very excited to hear the news."

"She… She said that Prince Imrahil would be there, as well," Gúthwyn continued hesitantly.

"Yes," Éowyn confirmed, glancing quickly at Gúthwyn. "His sons, however, will remain in Dol Amroth."

The news was a crashing wave of relief. "Thank the Valar," Gúthwyn whispered, pressing a hand to her chest. She knew, deep down, that she would not have gone had there been the slightest chance of Amrothos making an appearance. "And what of the other nobility?" she questioned, praying that her luck would hold.

"From what Aragorn wrote, it appears that only a few of Imrahil's advisors will make the journey," Éowyn replied. "Do not worry, baby sister. It will not be like last time."

Gúthwyn nodded, slowly inhaling and exhaling. "As long as Amrothos is not there," she murmured softly, shivering. Hoping to change the subject, she said, "Haiweth is very excited to go. It will be her first ball since the end of the War of the Ring."

"Indeed, she could scarcely conceal her anticipation," Éowyn agreed with a chuckle. "I was thinking—though I said nothing to her at the time, of course—that perhaps we could have a gown made for her. If that is amenable to you," she added when Gúthwyn glanced quickly at her.

After carefully evaluating the tone of the request and finding no slight against her ability to provide for the children, Gúthwyn hesitantly agreed. "Only if the cost is not too high," she insisted; "for I have no money, and you will soon have a child to support."

Éowyn waved her concerns away. "Nonsense," she chided Gúthwyn. "It is no imposition at all. The only difficulty will be in deciding what the make of Haiweth's dress shall be, for I understand that she has a number of equally cherished designs."

Gúthwyn gasped in delight at the idea. "I will go through her drawings and see if I can narrow it down to one favorite," she informed Éowyn. "But if the gown is to be a surprise, then she will surely notice its absence."

Éowyn considered this. "I offered to give her dancing lessons," she said at length, "which may provide you with enough time to borrow the drawing and show it to the tailor."

"That might work," Gúthwyn consented, smiling at the thought of how happy Haiweth would be when she received a new dress. "A thousand thanks, sister."

"You are most welcome," Éowyn replied, placing her hands back on her stomach.

Gúthwyn noticed and asked immediately, "Are you feeling ill?"

Éowyn shook her head. "Nay, not at all," she said. "I am merely thinking about the baby."

Smiling, Gúthwyn inquired, "Do you think it will be a boy or a girl?"

"Palanwen is adamant that it will be a boy," Éowyn answered, referring to the midwife whom she and Faramir had recently hired. Palanwen and Nestadan were now both responsible for attending to the White Lady, although as the pregnancy progressed Palanwen's services would be the more required of the two. "However, I will be just as pleased with either gender."

Gúthwyn grinned. "I am so happy for you," she murmured, eagerly anticipating the birth of her second nephew (or her first niece). While she could not yet say this without sharp pangs of jealousy, she had long ago resigned herself to their existence and tried to pay them no heed. "Have you yet determined a name?"

"Still no name seems to fit," Éowyn said, though her complexion showed no signs of worry. "Fortunately, plenty of time remains."

"Will you invite Éomer when the baby is born?" Gúthwyn pressed, holding her breath.

"Is _that_ the reason why you are so excited about my child?" the White Lady asked teasingly.

"Not at all!" Gúthwyn protested, though in truth she had been hoping that Éowyn would confirm a visit from her brother. As much as she was thrilled to be an aunt again, it was difficult to suppress the even greater enthusiasm she felt at the mere suggestion of seeing Éomer and Elfwine after so long.

Laughing, Éowyn replied, "I will of course extend an invitation, but Éomer is a busy man and he may not be able to make the journey."

"He will have to," Gúthwyn insisted. "He shall want to meet his niece or nephew, just as you went to see Elfwine."

"I hope he can come," Éowyn murmured with a sigh. "It has been too long since he left Rohan."

"For good reason," Gúthwyn pointed out, mindful of the economic problems that had plagued the Riddermark after the devastation of the War of the Ring. "Only recently have we… has he been confident of having enough food to last our—his people through the winter." She blushed a little, flustered by the sudden realization that she could hardly call the Eorlingas _her_ people.

"Well," Éowyn said, "fortunately Rohan is faring better these days, as seems to be the case from his letters."

"Which likely mention nothing of how he himself is faring," Gúthwyn replied sadly.

Éowyn looked shrewdly at her. "His marital problems are not of your making," she reminded the other woman.

"I should have—"

"The only, _only_ thing you should have done was tell Éomer earlier," Éowyn cut her off. "Do not blame yourself for what Lothíriel did to you, baby sister; your willingness to bear the brunt of someone else's shortcomings is a habit that you too often fall back on."

"But Elfwine—"

"Elfwine is not your child," Éowyn interrupted her. "His welfare is not your responsibility. I know you love him"—here her voice softened—"but it is Éomer and Lothíriel who must ensure his happiness, not you."

"How?" Gúthwyn demanded, upset. "You know Éomer as well as I do: I doubt he can even bring himself to be civil around Lothíriel. Elfwine is too perceptive not to realize what is going on."

"There is nothing you can do for him, save to offer the same affection and support you always have," Éowyn responded. "If Éomer has not been moved by the pleas you undoubtedly made on Elfwine and Lothíriel's behalf before you left, only time will lessen his anger."

"And what is Elfwine to do while he waits for Éomer's temper to cool?" Gúthwyn pressed, folding her arms across her chest.

Éowyn sighed. "Gúthwyn, how would _you_ propose to fix this problem?"

"I would _force_ Éomer to start treating his wife properly while his son is in the room!" Gúthwyn answered hotly.

"How?" Éowyn pressed, and Gúthwyn had to concede defeat.

"But it is not right," she nevertheless insisted, determined to at least maintain one objection.

"No," Éowyn agreed, "it is not. There is nothing, however, that you can do to remedy the situation."

Gúthwyn sighed heavily, not at all enjoying the nagging doubt that there _was_ something she could do—and that she was simply letting this power slip through her fingers.

"Come," Éowyn said, in an admirable attempt at cheerfulness, "let us discuss other matters. Have you decided what you will wear to the ball?"

Gúthwyn rolled her eyes. "What does it matter?" she could not help but ask. "The Gondorians likely all think I am a whore; they will certainly have nothing but criticism for whatever it is I do wear."

"There are some… well, prudish lords and ladies who, yes, may openly frown at you for appearing with Hammel and Haiweth," Éowyn admitted, "but you will find that such dissenters are few and far between when you have the goodwill of both King Elessar and Prince Faramir—not to mention, the fact that you are the sister of the king of Rohan and the woman who slew the Lord of the Nazgûl. Any attacks on your character will quickly be quelled, and they will not go unpunished."

"Aragorn has more important matters to concern himself with than censoring the nobility," Gúthwyn answered, flushing.

"Have you so little faith in him that you do not believe he would ensure the comfort of a guest?" Éowyn responded, raising an eyebrow.

"What about a guest who tried to steal the Ring from Frodo and return it to Sauron's hand?" Gúthwyn countered. There was hardly any reason for Aragorn to be interested in her _comfort_ after her behavior during the Quest.

"It was a crime you were coerced into attempting to commit," Éowyn said; "it was not a task that you would have undertaken of your own volition. Aragorn knows this. Nor, in any case, would he place any resentment he had over his friendship with Éomer, with myself, and with Legolas."

"Legolas?" Gúthwyn repeated, narrowing her eyes. "How is he involved in this? Is… Is he coming to the ball?" Unconsciously, she bit her lip.

"I know he was invited," Éowyn told her, "but I have not heard as to whether he will make the journey."

When the White Lady did not elaborate, Gúthwyn rephrased her question. "What does he have to do with Aragorn discouraging rumors about me?"

"It is merely that Aragorn has surely been informed that the you and Legolas are far closer than you were during the War of the Ring," Éowyn said, looking away for a moment as she folded the rag she had earlier used to wipe her mouth. "The two of them, after all, are good friends. He would never hurt Legolas."

"I—" Gúthwyn opened her mouth to question Éowyn's use of the word 'hurt,' but in the end, she could not decide whether or not she liked the idea of Legolas… well, caring about her reputation. Then again, she supposed it was nothing new; he had never believed the wild gossip about her.

"Anyway," Éowyn said after a pause, "we should decide which dress you are going to wear. Really," she insisted when Gúthwyn's reaction was hardly enthusiastic. "Once those stuffy Gondorian men see how beautiful you are, perhaps they will do less muttering and more staring."

Gúthwyn laughed, and impulsively embraced her sister—albeit carefully, so as to avoid jostling the future heir of Ithilien. "I love you," she whispered, grinning.

"I love you, too, baby sister," Éowyn murmured back.

* * *

><p>After finishing a particularly grueling report, Faramir decided to retreat into the library and take his mind off of work with a book he had just found the other week. It was a historical account of the Last Alliance of Men and Elves, both an engaging and a well-written read. He was looking forward to some quiet time, having spent the day up until this point being surrounded by arguing advisors.<p>

When he pushed open the door to the library, however, he quickly discovered that he was not alone: Hammel was there, sitting in an uncomfortable-looking chair and eagerly turning the pages of a discouragingly thick tome.

"Hello, Hammel," Faramir said quietly, uncertain of how the young man would react to his presence. Ever since he had shown Borogor's grave to Gúthwyn, he had received the distinct impression that Hammel was avoiding him. Whereas before they had discussed Gondorian politics and various novels, now Hammel would only glance furtively at him before leaving the room as quickly as possible. Faramir assumed that Gúthwyn had at last confided in Hammel, that the boy finally knew what role the Steward had played in Borogor's death; otherwise, he could think of no explanation for such behavior.

"Hello," Hammel replied stiffly, closing his book. He stood up, not much shorter than Faramir himself was, and gave a bow that looked as if it were performed solely out of politeness.

"Hammel, wait," Faramir spoke as the young man made to leave.

Hammel reluctantly slowed to a stop, then took a few steps back to separate himself from the Steward. "Yes, my lord?" he inquired, his expression guarded.

Unsure of where to start, Faramir tried, "I notice that you have been… rather distant lately. Does this have anything to do with…" He trailed off: after all, though he suspected, he was not certain that Gúthwyn had said anything to Hammel.

Yet it seemed that she had, for Hammel's features contorted in a rare display of emotion.

"Hammel, I am sorry—" Faramir began with a heavy heart, but Hammel cut him off before he could continue.

"You were just doing your job," the young man muttered. "I do not expect you to apologize for that."

"I—"

"Yet that does not change the fact that he died at your hands," Hammel continued, his eyes darkening. "And while your generosity in allowing us to stay here is most appreciated—even if it is only out of guilt on your part—I am not ready to overlook what you did. Not now."

Faramir did not know how to respond, nor indeed if there was anything he could even say; and so, when Hammel glanced longingly at the door, he stood mutely aside and allowed the young man to leave the library. Hammel's rapid footsteps quickly faded away until at last there was silence, though it was not the same peace and quiet that Faramir had been anticipating all day.

Not for the first time, the Steward of Gondor wondered if the children were not just as traumatized by their past as his wife's sister.


	56. Haiweth's Admirers

**Note:** According to _The Silmarillion_, Minas Tirith was renamed Minas Anor after the overthrow of Sauron. However, I had forgotten about this detail and did not remember it until recently; as a result, I will continue to refer to the city as Minas Tirith in order to avoid confusion.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Fifty-Six<strong>

"Incredible!" Haiweth murmured, her awestruck face illuminated by the glow that seemed to emanate from the rapidly approaching Minas Tirith.

"You have already seen it," Hammel muttered, rolling his eyes. His horse snorted in response, causing him to temporarily forget his sister as he looked suspiciously down at the animal.

"When I was _six_," Haiweth pointed out. "I barely remember any of it."

"Perhaps your memory will be jogged once we arrive at the city," Gúthwyn suggested, amused when Haiweth barely acknowledged her in favor of continuing to gape at Minas Tirith. Faramir's guards and Rangers (Mablung and Celedan unfortunately amongst them) circled around the company, though their watchfulness was rather unnecessary when the White City was so close. They had already passed the Rammas Echor, the outer walls which protected the fertile land surrounding Minas Tirith.

"You may find that some of it is quite unfamiliar," Éowyn told Gúthwyn, exchanging a smile with Faramir. "The last time you were here, the buildings and the walls were heavily damaged in the Battle of the Pelennor Fields."

Gúthwyn nodded in agreement, curious as to how the repairs had gone. When the company had crossed the Anduin, she had witnessed men laboring to rebuild the fallen city of Osgiliath. It was a daunting task: formerly great, Osgiliath had all but been destroyed during the War of the Ring. Though some progress was being made, it would likely take decades more for the citadel to return to even a shadow of what it had once been.

"Éowyn, are you feeling all right?" Faramir inquired softly, glancing at her stomach.

"Faramir, I am fine," Éowyn replied with mild, albeit fond exasperation. "Nestadan said I could ride, as long as I did so cautiously and without going faster than a brisk trot. You and Gúthwyn worry too much."

"No, we do not," Faramir and Gúthwyn protested. Both were surprised when their voices rang out in unison, and they warily looked at each other.

"Yes, you do," Éowyn insisted, her voice rising over the wind that whipped at their faces. "We could have made this journey in significantly less time, had the two of you not insisted on going at a slow trot!"

"Éowyn, you are pregnant!" Gúthwyn reminded her. "It cannot hurt to be too careful."

"Nay, it cannot," Nestadan agreed, steering his mare closer to the royal couple. Due to Éowyn's condition, he was accompanying the family to Minas Tirith so that he could keep a close eye on her—as well as supervise any interactions she might have with the midwives at the Houses of Healing. His own wife and children had happily accepted the invitation to accompany him; Nanaendis and Galanhîr were sharing a horse a yard or two behind him, and Gilwen was wrapped securely in the healer's arms. "My lady," Nestadan continued, "although I can scarcely believe I am saying this, your sister for once is more concerned about safety than you are."

Gúthwyn's expression was the absolute picture of indignation.

"I hardly need to be kept from riding a horse, something I have been doing for almost thirty years," Éowyn scoffed. "I am perfectly capable of managing a steed."

Gúthwyn sighed, and turned to Cobryn—who had been riding silently alongside her—for support. Yet Cobryn clearly did not think it his place to intrude on the matter of how Éowyn went about her pregnancy, and as a result was ignoring the conversation and studiously examining the White City.

"Are you going to the ball?" she questioned him, curious.

"Of course," Cobryn replied, looking surprised that she had even asked. "Why would I not?"

"Well… It hardly sounds like something you would enjoy," Gúthwyn answered, flushing.

"I could say the same for you," Cobryn responded with a smirk. "Dressing up in a fancy gown and dancing the night away with Gondorian nobles—or, rather, under their disapproving gazes? Nay, I shall attend purely for the pleasure of observation."

"Er… What?" Gúthwyn inquired, bewildered.

"It is always amusing to watch the crowds at a ball or a feast," Cobryn told her. "How people behave at gatherings such as these is generally very telling of their personalities, despite the often feeble cloaks of formality and politeness."

"Sometimes, Cobryn, I cannot at all understand you," Gúthwyn said with a sigh. Although balls were usually more painful than engaging, she could not imagine sitting down the entire time and simply scrutinizing others.

"Such as when I read books?" Cobryn teased her.

"There is more to life than books," Gúthwyn retorted, jutting her chin out in defiance. As she did so, she noticed Hammel rolling his eyes again.

"And there is more to life than practicing at the training grounds," was Cobryn's quick rebuttal.

"Now, now," Éowyn chastised them mildly. "Both of your interests have merit."

Haiweth wrinkled her nose. "I would much rather be dancing at a ball than either reading a book or picking up a sword," she contributed.

Hammel heaved a very audible sigh, prompting Haiweth to glare fiercely at him. Further debate, however, was prevented by their arrival at the gates of Minas Tirith, which Gúthwyn was stunned to see were made out of _mithril_. Gimli's hand had obviously been in this; she had heard that the Dwarves were assisting in the reconstruction of the city, but never would she have guessed that they would bestow such a generous gift upon the Gondorians. Such was the quality of _mithril_ that it was utterly unbreakable—now, no one would be able to force their way in through the gate.

The guards atop the wall had already recognized Faramir, and gave the signal to permit them entrance. The gates began to swing outward; the first glimpse of the city, a tiny sliver of stone buildings and a cobbled street, slowly became a broad view of the lower level. Haiweth sighed happily, but for a moment Gúthwyn reeled: she had forgotten how many people resided in the White City, and their numbers had clearly grown since the War. The streets were crowded and noisy, filled with competing smells and sights. Everything was hemmed in by the imposing white structures in which the Gondorians resided, all of which seemed to be jostling with each other for prominence.

_Rohan_, she thought wistfully, recalling the open plains with an aching sense of longing. Her home was nothing like this.

"My lady?"

Gúthwyn started, then realized that she was being addressed by Galen—and that she was in danger of falling behind the others, who had already begun to pass into the city.

"Is something wrong?" Galen inquired concernedly, his green eyes holding hers.

"No, not at all," Gúthwyn replied cheerfully, straightening. "I was simply marveling at the size of Minas Tirith."

"It is incredible, is it not?" Galen asked, unintentionally repeating Haiweth's earlier assessment of the White City.

Gúthwyn nodded in agreement, though it was more a matter of being polite than anything. She would never understand how the Gondorians could suffer to be so enclosed.

_If only they knew what they were missing,_ she thought pityingly, nudging Sceoh forward.

As she rode into the White City, she saw the Gondorians clearing the streets to make room for Faramir's company. Many of them were delighted to see the Steward and his wife, and they cheered happily at his presence; Gúthwyn and the children, however, were greeted with craned necks and curious stares.

"Welcome back," Cobryn muttered beside her, grinning wryly.

"I have greatly missed the scrutiny," Gúthwyn muttered sarcastically, surveying the crowd to gauge its mood. To her surprise, there were less mutterings and fewer frowns than she had expected. In fact, several of the younger Gondorians were gazing almost in awe at the Steward's guests, as if they were enthralled by the visitors.

_That is odd_, Gúthwyn thought, confused. Realizing that most of the gawkers were male, she flushed and looked down at herself, checking to make sure that there was nothing amiss about her appearance: a neckline too low on her riding gown, too much leg peeking out, or any number of other wardrobe malfunctions that might have gone undetected until now.

Yet there was nothing out of place or unusual about her garments, and she glanced up in a second attempt to figure out why so many Gondorian males were staring at their party.

"Are we going all the way to the top?" Haiweth inquired then, her golden hair glinting in the sunlight as she looked quizzically at Gúthwyn.

Éomund's daughter stiffened, and she quickly turned to examine the crowd. A few seconds later, her suspicions were confirmed: it was Haiweth whom the Gondorians were staring at, Haiweth who was turning their heads. It was her child who was being ogled, whose prettiness was losing its innocence with each boy's sharp intake of breath. Gúthwyn felt a cold wave of dread washing over her, threatening to sweep away everything she had been so careful to preserve.

She had no illusions that the Gondorian males would be content to only look. Her pulse began to race as she imagined what would happen at the ball, when the sons of assorted lords and important officials would be scanning the crowds for future wives. They might ask Haiweth to dance; they might whisper in her ear, murmuring sweet and beguiling words that would easily ensnare her. Then they might ask her to go for a stroll with them, and then…

"Gúthwyn? _Gúthwyn?_ Are you even _listening_ to me?"

"W-What?" Éomund's daughter managed, her mind filled with horrifying, half-formed pictures of Haiweth being taken advantage of by a faceless Gondorian.

"I asked if we were going all the way to the top!" Haiweth reminded her, looking indignant.

"Yes, we are," Gúthwyn replied, ignoring Cobryn when he narrowed his eyes concernedly at her. "That is where we shall be staying for the week."

"Really?" Haiweth asked excitedly. "Where Queen Arwen lives?"

"Not quite," Gúthwyn said, trying to recall the lodging arrangements that had been made for them, "but close. We are to be in the apartments in which Faramir once lived, when his father was the Steward." Though not, of course, in the same building as the King's House—the Gondorians were very strict about keeping the two offices separate—the Steward's House consisted of smaller, yet dignified lodgings which had been erected in the former's shadow.

This was perfectly acceptable to Haiweth, and she resumed her curious examination of their surroundings. She did not appear to notice her legions of admirers, which both relieved and worried Éomund's daughter: relieved because she did not want Haiweth to be uncomfortable, and worried because she feared that the girl would be unsuspecting in the face of danger.

"What is it?" Cobryn muttered, appearing at Gúthwyn's side no later than she had expected him to.

"Nothing," Éomund's daughter lied, remembering that Cobryn had been the first to advocate sending Haiweth to Minas Tirith to join the ranks of Queen Arwen's ladies-in-waiting. He would not understand why Gúthwyn was now dreading the upcoming ball, why she feared that exposing Haiweth to this society would only strengthen Gondor's hold over her. "I am fine," she insisted.

For all appearances, Cobryn seemed to have dropped the subject; yet his next words, casual though they were, reached right into the heart of the matter. "I notice that the Gondorians are receiving Haiweth enthusiastically," he remarked.

"Yes, indeed," Gúthwyn answered shortly, her hands curling tightly over Sceoh's reins.

"At the ball, she will undoubtedly find herself with many admirers," Cobryn added meaningfully.

"Are you trying to bait me?" Gúthwyn snapped, losing her temper and outright glaring at him. "Do you find it amusing to provoke me with thoughts of Haiweth being pursued by lustful Gondorian boys or, the Valar forbid, men?"

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Nestadan and Nanaendis exchange discreet, worried glances; Éowyn, Faramir, and Haiweth, however, were deep in animated conversation and thoroughly unaware of Gúthwyn's ire.

"I am simply warning you that you will have to put aside your fears for the evening," Cobryn replied calmly, ignoring her fury. "You cannot stop Haiweth from dancing with everyone who asks her."

"As if all they want is one waltz!" Gúthwyn spat, feeling the bile rise in her mouth.

"Gúthwyn, how many of your brother's soldiers did you dance with in Meduseld?" Cobryn asked her, sighing.

"That is different," Gúthwyn retorted. "You cannot comparable such honorable men as Elfhelm and Erkenbrand to the sons of lords and ladies who have never been denied anything, not once, in their entire lives!"

Cobryn lowered his voice. "I know your experiences have indicated otherwise, but noble blood—especially in the case of children Haiweth's age—does not always corrupt. You cannot expect that every teenage boy who wants to dance with Haiweth will also want to pull her outside and have his way with her."

"What if they do?" Gúthwyn hissed back, each muscle in her jaw clenched.

"You cannot seriously think that a fourteen-year-old boy will choose a ball attended by the entire Gondorian court as the perfect occasion on which to drag off the foster child of the king of Rohan's sister; or that no one—yourself, myself, Faramir and Éowyn included—will notice; or, indeed, that Haiweth herself will be completely incapable of resistance!" Cobryn countered, his expression severe. "I understand that you want to protect her, but the only thing you will achieve by forbidding Haiweth to interact with her peers is actually pushing her away from you! The more you coddle her, the more curious and rebellious she will become. What is worse, she will then grow as secretive as her brother, until finally you have no control over her."

"But—" Gúthwyn began hotly, opening her mouth to protest.

"But nothing," Cobryn cut her off as the gates to the second level of the city came into view. "Watch her like a hawk at the ball, if you will; do not, however, make the mistake of unreasonably interfering with her social life. You shall find that, if you do, your actions will have the complete opposite effect you intended them to."

"You act," Gúthwyn began, trembling with anger, "as if I am just supposed to stand aside and let Haiweth carry on with those boys—"

"Yes," Cobryn confirmed, cutting her off. "That is exactly what you are supposed to do, unless you would rather alienate her and risk losing her trust. She will never confide in you again if she believes you will punish her for her adolescence."

"I am not punishing her," Gúthwyn snarled. "I am protecting her!"

"And what, to her, is the difference?"

For a moment, Gúthwyn could only stare blankly at Cobryn. "O-Of course there is a difference!" she spluttered, dumbfounded, after a long silence. "You—"

"We are drawing attention," Cobryn suddenly muttered, interrupting her with a subtle nod in Nestadan and Nanaendis's direction. "I would suggest finishing this discussion later."

Though Nestadan and Nanaendis had their hands full between an awestruck Galanhîr ("Why are the buildings so tall? Why are the people wearing funny clothes?") and an anxious Gilwen ("Papa, I have to _go!_"), Gúthwyn's raised voice had evidently distracted them. In response, she spoke her next words in a heated whisper: "It is not much of a 'discussion' when all you are saying is that I am a terrible mother, not to mention implying that it was _my_ fault that Hammel became so distant!"'

"I am doing neither of those things," Cobryn replied calmly. "What I _am_ doing is pointing out that you are being unduly influenced by your fears and your past, which in turn is preventing you from acting in Haiweth's best interests."

Gúthwyn bit her lip, refusing to give into the retort that was bubbling up her throat: _as if _you _know anything about raising children_. "This conversation is over," she snapped instead, giving Sceoh an extra nudge so that she could catch up with Éowyn and Faramir. "There will be no 'later.'"

As she left Cobryn behind, she scanned the crowd for any signs of someone ogling Haiweth. Grateful when she saw none—at present—she made the decision to, as soon as she had some time to herself, devise a strategy for dealing with Haiweth's admirers at the ball.

_No one will touch my child and get away with it,_ she vowed.


	57. Mysteries and Memories

**Chapter Fifty-Seven**

The members of Faramir's company were given time to refresh themselves before meeting Elessar, and soon Gúthwyn found herself being presented with spacious quarters in the Steward's House. Her room was nothing short of ornate, and her murmur of awe did not go undetected by Beregond, the captain of Faramir's guard.

"The Stewards of old, though aware that their status was not as the Kings', were nevertheless determined to provide their guests—and household—with such comforts as befitting their position," Beregond explained. His words were directed at Gúthwyn, but the thoughtful look in his eyes suggested that his thoughts were not in the present; they were in another year, with another ruling system and a different Steward.

"If these were built to avoid upstaging the King's quarters, than I can hardly imagine what Aragorn's chambers look like," Gúthwyn remarked, taking another look at the intricate tapestries upon the walls and noting, as well, the make of the luxurious comforter upon her bed.

At first, Beregond seemed surprised by her casual use of Aragorn's name; then he appeared to remember her connection to his king, and nodded. "Is there anything that I can get for you, my lady?" he inquired.

"No, not at all," Gúthwyn replied, "but thank you very much."

Beregond bowed. "Dinner shall be at the King's House in two hours," he informed her as he straightened. "There are servants here, should you find that, in the meantime, you are lacking aught else."

Gúthwyn thanked him again, and a moment later she was alone in the room. Taking a few seconds to gather her bearings, she carefully surveyed her surroundings. In truth, she had not expected the Steward's House to be so magnificent. Yet she, Hammel, Haiweth, and Cobryn had each been given individual chambers of impressive dimensions. Then there had been Faramir and Éowyn's quarters, which were roughly the size of a normal house in Edoras.

Her own room was quite spacious, though not very well-lit. The narrow windows, combined with the hangings that covered nearly every inch of the stone walls, contributed to a rather stuffy atmosphere. However, if the bed was nearly as comfortable as it looked, she would hopefully have no trouble falling asleep.

She noticed that her belongings, having already been brought up by some servants, were on the floor nearby. Hoping to get settled in quickly, she started to unpack her bags. Less than ten minutes later, however, she was interrupted by a knock on the door. Straightening, she called, "Who is it?"

"Haiweth," came the quick, impatient answer.

"Come in," Gúthwyn responded, but the door was already opening. Haiweth rushed inside, allowing Éomund's daughter to observe that the girl had already changed out of her riding gown and was wearing one more suitable for—

"Can I go and walk around the city?" Haiweth asked hopefully, her freshly-brushed curls bouncing up and down as she rocked back and forth on her heels.

"Alone?" Gúthwyn questioned, raising an eyebrow.

"Well... Maybe," Haiweth said meekly.

"Absolutely not," Gúthwyn responded, frowning. "If you want to explore, you will have to bring someone with you."

"What about Talathdil?" Haiweth suggested.

"_Who?_" Gúthwyn demanded. The dress she had been about to fold and put away fell, unnoticed, onto the floor.

"Talathdil," Haiweth repeated. "He was one of the guards outside the Steward's House. He says his shift ends in a few minutes, and that he can show me around."

"How old is he?" Gúthwyn pressed, every hair on her body rising.

"I… I do not know. Nineteen?" Haiweth guessed, fidgeting.

It took less than a second for Éomund's daughter to come to a decision, though in truth the decision had long ago been made. "No, you cannot go with him," she told Haiweth curtly. "I have no idea who he is, nor who his parents are, and his eagerness to 'show you around' is troublesome. If you must go wandering about, bring Hammel or Cobryn with you."

Haiweth's mouth dropped open. "That is so unfair!" she cried, her frustration brimming over into her words. "Can you not at least meet him and see for yourself what he is like, if that is so important?"

"Haiweth, my answer is no. Go find your brother or Cobryn and ask one of them to escort you," Gúthwyn said, her hands curling into fists.

"But I do not need them to escort me when Talathdil has already offered to!" Haiweth protested angrily.

"And I already told you, you are not to go gallivanting off with that boy," Gúthwyn snapped. "If you cannot tolerate Hammel or Cobryn's company, then you are to remain in this house until dinner."

"You would let Hammel walk around on his own!" Haiweth cried, looking dangerously close to tears—or stomping her foot on the ground. "Hammel gets to do whatever he wants, and you never say anything about it!"

"That is not true, and you know it," Gúthwyn retorted. "The only reason I would permit your brother to roam through the city before you is because he is far less likely to draw unwanted attention!"

"I have nothing valuable," Haiweth crossly declared. "I am not going to get robbed!"

"Robbery is the least of my concerns," Gúthwyn muttered darkly.

When Éomund's daughter did not elaborate, Haiweth narrowed her eyes. "What are you talking about?"

It was easier for Gúthwyn to ignore the question than to even attempt to provide a satisfactory explanation. "Haiweth, my answer is final," she said. "You are not allowed to tour the city on your own or with Talathdil; or, for that matter, with anyone besides myself, Cobryn, Hammel, Éowyn, or Faramir."

"Can I at least walk around this level by myself?" Haiweth pleaded miserably.

"No, you cannot," Gúthwyn replied shortly. "It is too dangerous. I suggest that you finish unpacking and wait for dinner."

Haiweth heaved one of her most dramatic, frustrated sighs yet and all but stomped out of the room, slamming the door behind her with as much force as she could muster. Gúthwyn winced at the noise, recognizing the sound as another brick in the wall that had slowly been rising between her and her child. She hoped that Haiweth's anger would lessen over time, as it always did, but she could not escape the nagging concern that they were arguing more and more frequently as the months went by.

With a sigh of her own, Éomund's daughter returned to her unpacking. It did not take her long to finish; when she was done, she lay on her bed and confirmed that the mattress was, in fact, as wonderfully soft as it had appeared to be.

She lost track of time as she relaxed, and was only pulled back to the present by a knock on the door. "Who is it?" she asked, reluctantly sitting up.

"Cobryn," was the answer.

Although she should have expected that her friend would come in to check on her, Gúthwyn stiffened. Having just fought with Haiweth, she was in no mood to tangle over the girl's social life for a third time that day—for she was certain Cobryn would bring up the discussion they had had while riding into the city. Warily and wearily, she took a deep breath and called, "Come in."

Cobryn entered the room and, as usual, settled himself in the nearest, most uncomfortable-looking chair. "Hammel has disappeared into Faramir's library and Haiweth is moping rather spectacularly in her room," he reported, lacing his hands together and glancing at Gúthwyn.

"I am surprised you did not join Hammel," Gúthwyn replied, avoiding the subject of Haiweth altogether.

"Normally I would have," Cobryn responded, "but I have instead been gathering information."

"Such as?" Gúthwyn inquired, for he was looking particularly closely at her.

"As you may or may not be aware, Beregond has a nineteen-year-old son named Bergil," Cobryn said.

"He does?" Gúthwyn echoed, confused. She had only rarely spoken to the captain of Faramir's guard, but not once had he mentioned any children; nor had she ever seen him with any younger men in Ithilien.

"Bergil has been staying in Minas Tirith for the past few months, completing his studies," Cobryn explained. "He apparently left Emyn Arnen shortly before we arrived. As it were, he is now stationed as a guard of minor, yet not insignificant, rank, and one of his companions happens to be Talathdil."

"How did you know about Talathdil?" Gúthwyn demanded, for a few seconds too amazed by Cobryn's seeming omniscience to bristle at the topic of conversation.

"Haiweth, despite being quite preoccupied with sulking, was not so busy that she could not fill me in as to why she was upset," Cobryn told her, though not a hint of accusation was in his tone. "Out of curiosity, I decided to ask Beregond if he had heard anything about Talathdil. Evidently, Beregond has not personally met the boy; however, should you suspect his intentions, Bergil might be able to provide you with the answers you are seeking."

Gúthwyn looked at her friend in surprise. "And you have no opinion on the matter?" she inquired cautiously, wondering when he was going to start berating her for 'unreasonably interfering with Haiweth's social life.'

"As it has been but moments since I spoke with Beregond, nay, I do not," Cobryn replied. "Or, rather, I have no opinion of Talathdil. 'The matter' is another question entirely."

"What do you mean?" Gúthwyn asked, puzzled.

"Nothing that would be appropriate to discuss at the given time," was Cobryn's enigmatic response.

Gúthwyn contemplated probing him for further details but, in the end, decided that it was not worth the effort. She had long ago learned that, while Cobryn had the inquisitorial skills to drag the truth out of her, she possessed no such talents when it came to doing the same with him. "Fine, keep your secrets," she muttered, rolling her eyes in annoyance.

"Indeed, I shall," Cobryn said lightly.

Gúthwyn sighed. She was frustrated with both Cobryn and Haiweth—especially since her grievances with each revolved around the same issue—and not at all in the mood for company. "If you do not mind, then," she began, walking over to her desk, "I have a letter to write."

Cobryn raised an eyebrow, but nevertheless obligingly rose to his feet. "Have at it," he replied. "To whom are you writing?"

"Elfwine," Gúthwyn answered promptly. She had, in fact, been intending to tell him about her visit to Gondor. Elves did not reside in Gondor, of course, but she thought he might be entertained by hearing about the brave King Elessar. After all, as the prince of Rohan, Elfwine would at one point be expected to present himself to Aragorn as the heir of the House of Eorl.

"Then I will see you at dinner," Cobryn said, his tone ambiguous; she was unable to discern whether or not he had detected her less-than-sociable mood. He was halfway out the door before she swallowed and called out:

"Thank you for talking to Beregond."

"You are most welcome," Cobryn responded, giving a short bow before he left the room. Gúthwyn watched him go, still irritated by his attitude about Haiweth but now feeling guilty for having rather unceremoniously kicked him out. Sighing, she contemplated apologizing; however, her rankled emotions intervened. _He should not have taken Haiweth's side,_ she reminded herself. _He should not have advocated for letting her socialize freely with potentially dangerous males._

Hardening her heart, Gúthwyn withdrew a piece of parchment from her desk. _Dear Elfwine,_ she wrote, _I miss you so much…_

* * *

><p>Come evening, Gúthwyn donned a blue dress Éomer had given her years ago and knocked on each of the children's doors, reminding them that it was time to join the king and queen of Gondor for dinner. For once, she did not have to coax either of them out of their rooms. Hammel was practically through the door before she had knocked and, if the dozens of dresses scattered across the floor were any testimony, Haiweth had been getting ready for quite some time.<p>

Somewhat bemused by the children hurrying before her, Gúthwyn directed them into the entrance hall of the Steward's House, where they met Éowyn, Faramir, and Cobryn. Haiweth immediately gravitated to the White Lady's side, looking rather anxious.

"What if I cannot curtsy properly?" Gúthwyn heard her worriedly asking Éowyn.

"Aragorn and Arwen will not judge your bowing technique," Éowyn assured her, laughing kindly. "They will not be upset if you wobble."

"What if I say something wrong?" Haiweth continued, all but wringing her hands in anxiety. "What if I make a fool of myself?"

"You will do neither," Éowyn said reassuringly. "King Elessar and Queen Arwen will be delighted to see you."

Somewhat stung that Haiweth was going to Éowyn with these concerns and not her, Gúthwyn stared at the floor as if she found something innately fascinating about the tile pattern. She could feel the heat of Cobryn's gaze upon her, though she feigned ignorance to his presence and simply stood there until Faramir announced that they were ready to go.

The walk to the King's House took less than a minute to complete. Haiweth was positively trembling with nerves; every now and then, Gúthwyn caught Hammel rolling his eyes at this behavior. After the guards opened the main doors, the group found

itself in an enormous foyer: not, of course, as grand as the entrance hall within the Tower of Ecthelion, but still worthy of awe. The walls were of white stone, and hung with banners depicting the emblems of Gondor and all its fiefdoms and allies. Gúthwyn was pleasantly surprised to see that the flag of Rohan was displayed prominently, holding a place of distinction amongst the others.

"In this city, our alliance with Rohan is honored above all others," Faramir said, noticing what had captured Gúthwyn's attention.

Éomund's youngest daughter started. After overcoming the instinctive bristle that still occurred whenever Faramir spoke to her, an automatic reaction which she had yet to banish completely, she attempted to offer a smile. The result was rather weak and half-hearted, but it was, she thought, a step in the right direction.

Faramir nodded at her, perhaps in recognition of this, and returned to Éowyn's side. Gúthwyn saw the couple exchange a tender smile, which made her look away in embarrassment—as if she had been caught eavesdropping or observing a private moment. She wondered if she would have minded this had Borogor still been alive, had he been in this very room to share with her a smile of their own.

_Stop it,_ she ordered herself, chasing away the lingering, traitorous thoughts of the man she loved.

Luckily, a guard approached just then to conduct them into the dining room. Gúthwyn trailed behind Éowyn and Faramir as they followed the soldier; Cobryn, Hammel, and Haiweth came shortly after. The chamber they entered was expansive, and largely taken up by a table which had been set with plates and silverware. At the head of the table sat the king and queen of Gondor, who rose as one to greet their guests.

"Welcome back to Minas Tirith," Aragorn bade them. The formal tone he had somewhat improved upon over the years was broken when he grinned at Faramir and Éowyn, who had respectively swept into a bow and a curtsy. "Was your journey safe, my friends?"

"Indeed, it was," Faramir confirmed.

"We have all been looking forward to the ball," Éowyn added, smiling as she glanced at Haiweth. "Some of us especially so."

Although Gúthwyn could not count herself amongst the latter category, she took this as her cue to step forward and execute a rather wobbly curtsy. "My lord and lady," she said quietly.

"Lady Gúthwyn, welcome." Arwen's soft, melodious voice sounded, prompting Gúthwyn to glance up in surprise. She could not remember if Queen Arwen had ever directly addressed her, nor did she understand why the Elf was doing so now.

"Thank you," she nevertheless murmured, determined not to appear disrespectful. When she straightened, she was unsure of whether to make small talk about the journey or whatnot; instead, she uncomfortably deflected everyone's attention onto the children. "I believe Hammel and Haiweth have been presented to you before; allow me to do so again." She withdrew, allowing the siblings to approach. For all Haiweth's nervousness, the girl was able to pull off quite an impressive curtsy. Hammel's bow was on the stiff side, but otherwise had no faults.

Once the two had finished genuflecting, Arwen remarked in mild astonishment, "You have both grown so quickly since last we met. If I recall correctly, Gúthwyn was still able to pick Haiweth up!"

"Not to mention, she was taller than both of them," Aragorn pointed out, his eyes twinkling as he surveyed Gúthwyn—who was now dwarfed by Hammel, and a full inch shorter than Haiweth.

A moment later, after Cobryn had exchanged greetings with his hosts and there had been an appropriate amount of genial chatter, the entire company sat down to dinner. No sooner had they been seated than a group of servants entered the room from multiple doors, bearing numerous platters containing a variety of dishes.

"Lady Éowyn," Arwen began as the meal commenced, "is all well with the baby?"

Gúthwyn wondered how the yet-childless queen could maintain such an inscrutable expression, for she herself was positively burning with envy.

"Yes, everything is wonderful," Éowyn assured Arwen. Both she and Faramir were practically beaming with pride. "He or she is due sometime in June."

"Will you be needing the services of a midwife while you are here?" Aragorn inquired, looking concerned. "There are many in this city, and most of them practice in the Houses of Healing."

"Many thanks for the kind offer," Éowyn replied, "but we have brought our healer, Nestadan, along with us. I am not yet so far along that I have to worry about unexpectedly going into labor!"

For the first time since hearing the news about her sister's pregnancy, Gúthwyn felt a twinge of anxiety. She remembered how Lothíriel's screams had carried throughout the Golden Hall, and she had heard the women at the washing circles complaining about the monstrous pain that seemed to accompany childbirth; would the same happen to Éowyn? Would she be caught in the grip of hours-long agony, with no seeming end to the torture?

"Lady Gúthwyn, you appear to be rather preoccupied."

The quiet observation was voiced by Aragorn, who spoke as an aside to the conversation the others were having about the heir of Ithilien.

"I… I was just thinking of how glad I will be to have another nephew. Or a niece," Gúthwyn responded, ignoring Cobryn's glance and instead swiping a roll from the bread basket.

"I hear from Éomer that Elfwine is a strong-willed boy," Aragorn remarked, taking a sip of wine from his goblet. "He has frequently praised you for your stamina in watching over him."

Gúthwyn blushed, though the mere mention of Elfwine was enough to dampen her spirits. "My brother exaggerates," she answered, smiling sadly. "In reality, I spoiled Elfwine rotten."

Aragorn chuckled, but she could tell that he had detected something off about her speech. Fortunately, he did not press the matter. "I assume Éomer shall visit when the child is born," he said to Éowyn and Faramir, yet it was more of a question than a statement. "It has been too long, I fear, since he has relieved himself of his duties for more than an afternoon."

"I will certainly extend an invitation to him," Éowyn informed Aragorn, "but my dear brother has not left his kingdom for years. I worry," she joked, "that he is turning into a recluse."

"I shall kidnap him," Gúthwyn vowed, "if he does not make the journey in a timely fashion."

Haiweth giggled at this, and promptly looked mortified that she had let such a sound escape her whilst listening in on the others' discussion. Luckily, Gúthwyn had generated enough laughter from her comment so as to conceal the girl's indiscretion; only Arwen appeared to have witnessed it, and the queen merely smiled in kind amusement.

"Speaking of guests with unenviable amounts of paperwork," Éowyn began, "was Legolas able to spare a few days from his schedule?"

Gúthwyn glanced quickly at Aragorn, astonishing herself when she realized that she was actually hoping that the answer was yes. His presence would, of course, be a welcoming change from the hordes of undoubtedly uptight and unfriendly Gondorian nobles, but she was still surprised by the way in which she was practically holding her breath.

"He will be arriving on the morrow," Arwen assured Éowyn.

Though the news was welcome—because of both the fact that she would have a forgiving dance partner, and the certain steps towards recovery her feelings indicated—Gúthwyn quickly checked her small smile. She did not want anyone to get the wrong impression, especially the children: they both avoided Legolas to the best of their capabilities, and she feared that they would not be receptive to the friendship she had developed with him.

"What of Imrahil?" Faramir asked then, yanking Gúthwyn from her thoughts with an unpleasant jolt. "I was under the impression that he had intended to be here already."

"Unfortunately, there seems to have been a delay in his leaving Dol Amroth," Aragorn reported, his features grave. "He may not be arriving until the day of the ball, if not the evening."

"Of what nature was this delay?" Faramir queried concernedly, narrowing his eyebrows. He was not the only one who was curious: Gúthwyn leaned slightly forward, confused by the king of Gondor's somber tone. "Is something wrong?"

"His youngest son has been ill for some time," Aragorn explained, knitting his brow. "Were you not aware of this?"

"A-Amrothos?" Gúthwyn stuttered, both stunned and perturbed. When last she had encountered this particular prince, he had been the epitome of health; he had certainly had enough endurance to chase her through a crowd, and the strength to snap her bones…

She found that she was rubbing her wrists, the faint memories of physical pain barely keeping her at bay from the darker recollections of terror and desperation. What he had done to her, though minor in comparison to any of the crimes Haldor had committed, was something that she had never wanted to contemplate after the nightmares faded away.

At her side, Cobryn said nothing, but she heard his chair shift and felt his presence become a little stronger.

Faramir was frowning. "Now that I think of it, Imrahil has rarely mentioned Amrothos in any of his correspondence within the past few years," he admitted. "I do remember, once, reading that my uncle was attempting to put an end to his drinking problem, but since then only Elphir and Erchirion have been discussed."

"Amrothos, apparently, has not taken well to Imrahil's designs," Aragorn confided in a low voice. "Rumors are spreading like wildfire about his health. Some I suspect are true, others I doubt. Yet I would advise caution: Imrahil avoided the inquiry I sent after hearing such gossip, and—though the whispers are rampant—he does not wish to discuss the matter."

"What do you mean, he 'has not taken well to Imrahil's designs'?" Gúthwyn questioned uneasily.

"Considering how frequently Amrothos drank, it is not unlikely that if, for instance, Imrahil ordered him to stop completely, his body reacted poorly," Cobryn mused darkly.

Éowyn gave Gúthwyn a sympathetic smile, but it barely registered in the mind of Éomund's youngest daughter. She was well-acquainted with Amrothos's drinking habit, having borne the consequences of it in the form of wandering hands and physical assault. However, she had never considered the possibility that he was addicted, that he was being harmed by his own consumption.

_Would he have agreed to Lothíriel's plan if he had been in the right state of mind?_ Gúthwyn wondered, struggling to ignore the memories of said machinations. _Would he have attacked me in the stables, had he been sober?_

She could not, however, ponder such things without revisiting that afternoon in front of Sceoh's stall. Try though she might to block out the flashes of images and sensations, they returned to her as if the incident had happened yesterday. _"I know you want me, you slut,"_ she heard Amrothos saying, his eyes boring into hers. _"Consider this my payment for helping you enter the tournament."_

She remembered everything all too clearly: how he had forced her back against the rough, scratchy wooden door; how quiet it had been outside the stables as he slid his hand beneath her shirt; how cold his flesh had been upon her, and how hot her face had felt as his kiss drained her of the ability to even breathe; how Elphir had overlooked her terror and trembling and tears and instead blamed the assault on her, as if she had _wanted_ Amrothos to violate her…

"Gúthwyn, are you all right?"

Éomund's daughter jumped, realizing as she did so that she had balled her napkin up in her fists. Cobryn, who had voiced his concern in Rohirric, was watching her closely.

"Y-Yes, I am fine," she murmured back, releasing the napkin and letting it fall, now wrinkled and limp, onto her lap.

Aragorn gave the two of them a keen look, just in time for Éomund's daughter to recall that the king of Gondor was fluent in the language of the Riddermark.

"Well," Queen Arwen conceded delicately, "perhaps we shall learn more when Imrahil comes to Minas Tirith." Deftly changing the subject, she turned toward the far end of the table and said, "Haiweth, I hear from Éowyn that you are quite the young artist!"

Under ordinary circumstances, Gúthwyn would have been listening carefully in on any dinner conversation involving the children. Yet she never even heard Haiweth's response; her thoughts remained on the youngest prince of Dol Amroth, swirling around the mysteries and the memories.


	58. An Aversion to Scholarly Learning

**Chapter Fifty-Eight**

The next morning found Gúthwyn, rather tired from a series of troubling dreams that had plagued her sleep all night, attempting to take her mind off of Amrothos by running an errand for Éowyn. Unfortunately, though said errand only required her to venture as far as the sixth level of the city, her woefully inadequate sense of direction turned what should have been a ten-minute walk into a half-hour wander.

Nestadan had been given quarters near the Houses of Healing, and Gúthwyn remembered the area well from her long stay there during the War of the Ring; however, the dwelling in which Nestadan was currently residing was located on one of the smaller roads that she had never traversed.

As of now, she was somewhere between Fen Hollin, the Closed Door which led to the tombs of former Stewards and Kings of Gondor, and the Porter's House—the Porter being the guard to the aforementioned Closed Door. She had already scoured the section near the Houses of Healing with little luck, and was beginning to despair of ever finding Nestadan's home.

"My lady?"

Gúthwyn turned around and saw Galen approaching her, a warm expression in his green eyes. "What brings you here?" he inquired in a friendly tone, slowing to a stop in front of her.

"I am attempting to find Nestadan," Gúthwyn explained, smiling back at the Ranger, "but I have not been very successful. Do you know where he and his family are staying?"

Although he tried very hard to conceal it, the upturned corners of Galen's mouth suggested that he was attempting to conceal an amused grin. "I believe you have already passed the correct road, if you are coming from the Houses of Healing."

Gúthwyn sighed, mildly exasperated with herself. She could have sworn that she had combed the entire area quite thoroughly... "Will you show me where it is, then?" she asked. "As you can tell, finding my way around this city is not my strong suit."

For a moment, a slight movement made Éomund's daughter suspect that Galen was about to offer her his arm; he evidently thought better of it, however, and opted instead to simply start walking. "Minas Tirith is a lot bigger than Emyn Arnen—and Edoras," he conceded as she began to follow him. "The confusion is understandable."

"Seven levels," Gúthwyn grumbled. "Were they all necessary?"

"From a defensive point of view, yes," Galen replied, chuckling, "but my legs would beg to disagree."

Gúthwyn wholeheartedly concurred. "I cannot imagine what it would be like to have to travel throughout this city on a daily basis. Most of Gondorians seem to not own horses, either."

"Not all of us are horse lords," Galen quipped, grinning. "Down this lane," he directed her, pointing to a small street.

Wedged in between and in the shadows of two large stone buildings, it was no surprise that Gúthwyn had overlooked the road—and she said as much to Galen, rather triumphantly.

"I believe he was given this apartment," the young Ranger told her, once a couple of turns had taken them to the very edge of the circle. Nestadan's lodgings were evidently located within the wall itself: a rather ingenious way to save space in such cramped quarters, Gúthwyn thought.

"A thousand thanks," she told Galen, glad that she had run into him when she had. "I would probably have been wandering around for at least another half hour."

Galen assured her that it had been no trouble. "Shall I wait until you are done?" he inquired. "If you would like an escort back, that is."

"Because I am completely incapable of finding the Steward's House again?" Gúthwyn asked jestingly.

Galen turned a brilliant shade of red and began stammering that he had never intended to imply such a thing. Feeling rather guilty that she had teased him, Gúthwyn quickly informed the Ranger that she had taken no offense. "Besides," she added with a smile, "if it is not out of your way, I would enjoy the company."

Looking very much relieved, Galen promised that he would remain nearby until her business with Nestadan was finished. He then wandered off towards the main road, leaving her alone in front of the healer's lodgings.

No sooner had she knocked on the door than came the sound of feet, pitter-pattering across the floor and growing louder by the second. "Mama, we have visitors!" she heard Galanhîr shriek excitedly.

The door opened an instant later, and a cheerful Galanhîr craned his neck up to squint at Gúthwyn. It was the first time the two of them had come face to face since Nestadan had invited Gúthwyn over for dinner, though she had often seen the child from a distance in Emyn Arnen—usually running after one of his parents and positively peppering them with questions.

"I remember you!" Galanhîr announced after a moment of inspection. "You're Princess Éowyn's sister, but you're not a princess. What's your name again?"

Laughing, Éomund's daughter replied, "I am Gúthwyn. If I recall correctly," she added with a smile, "your name is Galanhîr."

"Of course it is!" Galanhîr exclaimed, looking astonished by the mere suggestion that anyone might forget.

"Galanhîr, are you harassing our guests?" called Nanaendis, Nestadan's wife, shortly before coming into view. Clutching at her skirts was Gilwen, whose wary eyes peeped out at Éomund's daughter before vanishing out of sight. "Lady Gúthwyn, how are you?" Nanaendis inquired.

"Fine, thank you," Gúthwyn answered, inclining her head. "And I am not being harassed in the slightest," she assured the other woman.

"A kind assessment on your part, no doubt," Nanaendis said with a grin, shaking her head ruefully at Galanhîr. "Have you been enjoying your stay here thus far?"

"Very much so," Gúthwyn replied. _Unpleasant reminders of Dol Amroth royalty aside, that is._ "What of yourselves? Have Galanhîr and Gilwen taken well to the city?"

"I love it!" Galanhîr burst out before his mother could answer. "There are soldiers everywhere! And Papa says we might get to see the King!"

"As you can tell," Nanaendis told Gúthwyn, rolling her eyes fondly, "Galanhîr is thrilled to be here. Gilwen, on the other hand"—the mop of hair behind her legs quivered—"is still coming around.

"Are you attending the ball? Gúthwyn inquired, smiling. "She might like seeing the ladies in their fancy gowns."

Her remark was rewarded with the very brief appearance of two curious eyes.

"We will be there," Nanaendis responded, "and, indeed, Gilwen has been looking forward to it ever since she found out that we were to go."

"Balls are boring," Galanhîr scoffed quickly, lest his opinion not immediately be made known. "Dancing is silly."

"No, it isn't!" exclaimed a scandalized Gilwen, who emerged from behind Nanaendis to glare at her brother. "_You're_ silly."

"Behave, you two," Nanaendis admonished as Galanhîr stuck out his tongue. "Lady Gúthwyn, are you here to see my husband?"

"Yes, I am," Éomund's daughter confirmed. "If he is not around, however, I can come back later."

"No need to," came a voice from the interior of the dwelling. Gúthwyn squinted and noticed, for the first time, that there was more than one room in the house: on the far wall of the main area, leading to additional quarters, was a door which was now being closed by Nestadan. "Lady Gúthwyn," the healer greeted her, inclining his head. "What brings you here?"

"I have come to retrieve the herbs you have been giving Éowyn," Gúthwyn explained.

"Is she all right?" Nestadan inquired, his brow furrowing.

"Yes, she is," Gúthwyn quickly affirmed. While she was speaking, Nanaendis beckoned to Galanhîr and, with some resistance on the boy's part, herded the children out of the room. "She is just tired, and I figured that I could help by running some errands for her."

"That was kind of you," Nestadan remarked, setting his medicine bag on the table and emptying it. His fingers wove through the items as they tumbled out onto the wooden surface, searching for the desired herbs.

Gúthwyn shrugged. "It is the least I can do," she replied. "She thinks I worry too much, but I would not want her to overexert herself and risk harming the baby."

Retrieving several small packets from the depths of his pack, Nestadan said, "Your concern is understandable, yet rest assured that the baby is quite protected while inside of your sister. Walking around the city will not endanger him or her."

"Better to be safe than sorry," Gúthwyn argued, folding her arms across her chest. If Éowyn lost her child… nay, she did not want to even think of it. Not only would her sister be devastated, but the likelihood of her conceiving and successfully carrying the pregnancy to term would be even smaller.

Nestadan looked closely at Éomund's youngest daughter for a moment, then agreed. "Indeed, you are correct," he said amiably. "Now, these are the herbs that your sister needs." He held out the packets; after thanking him profusely, Gúthwyn stored them in the small bag she had brought for this purpose. "I shall visit her tomorrow to see how she is faring, but, in the meantime, please send her my regards."'

Gúthwyn promised to do so, and asked for Nestadan to do the same with his family. "It sounds as if Gilwen is eagerly awaiting the ball," she added, smiling.

Nestadan chuckled. "You would hardly recognize her, if you happened to witness her talking about it," he replied. "Normally she is far quieter than her brother, but as of late she has been rivaling him in her chattiness."

Gúthwyn chuckled knowingly. "Haiweth has been equally animated for the last two weeks," she confided.

"Understandably so," Nestadan answered, grinning, "now that she is at the age where nothing seems more significant than a social event."

Though Gúthwyn nodded, she could not help but remember her own fourteenth year, when her thoughts had revolved most frequently around the meager portions of food she and the rest of Saruman's slaves were granted twice a day. Part of her wistfully wondered what it would have been like to experience the adolescence of Haiweth's peers, whose biggest troubles generally consisted of unrequited loves and quarrels with their friends.

"I should be off," she said, hoping that Nestadan had not noticed her momentary departure from the conversation. "Thank you very much for these herbs."

"There is no need to thank me for doing my job," Nestadan reminded her with a smile, following her to the door and holding it open for her. "Enjoy your day, Lady Gúthwyn."

After Éomund's daughter had bade the healer farewell, she stepped outside and found that Galen was waiting for her just across the street. "I trust you are in good health, my lady?" the Ranger inquired as she approached him.

"As far as I know," Gúthwyn replied cheerfully. "I came here, however, for my sister, since she was quite tired this morning."

"How is the baby?" Galen questioned, swiftly deducting the reason behind the visit. "That is, if you do not mind my asking," he was quick to add, his cheeks coloring.

"He—or she—is doing wonderfully," Gúthwyn assured him, as they struck the main road that would lead them back to the seventh level. "I cannot wait to be an aunt again… Sometimes, it feels like it will take forever for the due date to arrive!"

"If you are this excited," Galen said with a chuckle, "I can only imagine how Princess Éowyn must be feeling."

"Elated," was Gúthwyn's succinct response.

Shortly after the two of them entered the seventh level, they passed a group of Rangers conversing near the parapet. They were older than Galen, and Éomund's daughter was hard-pressed to refrain from smiling when she saw her companion's posture visibly improving. The next instant, however, her grin disappeared: she had suddenly recognized one of the Rangers as Celedan, a foul-tempered man who still loathed her for her duel gone awry with Faramir. His rudeness to her in Emyn Arnen, while perhaps understandable, was something she remembered all too well.

Galen was blissfully unaware of the tension that arose when Celedan lifted his head and noticed Gúthwyn's appearance, yet he was clearly flustered in the presence of Faramir's senior soldiers. If the perturbed expression on his face was any indicator, he was currently undergoing an internal struggle over whether or not he was expected to verbally acknowledge the other Rangers—a dilemma which was only made more complicated by the presence of a lady.

While Gúthwyn would have been perfectly content to ignore the other Rangers, the decision was not in her hands. Indeed, it was taken out of Galen's but a second or two later: Mablung, one of the Rangers who had witnessed Borogor's death and, consequently, always treated Gúthwyn kindly—that was, when avoiding her was impossible—separated from his friends and approached them. "Lady Gúthwyn," he said quietly, inclining his head. "Galen."

"Mablung," Gúthwyn replied cordially, while Galen bowed and simultaneously folded his arms behind his back in an effort to conceal the slight trembling of his hands. "How does this day find you?"

"Well, thank you," Mablung answered. His somber tone should have been a warning to Éomund's daughter, but instead she was caught completely off-guard by what he said next. "If it is not a bad time, could I have a word?"

Gúthwyn bit her lip in consternation. If she said yes, she would undoubtedly be forced to remember the last moments of Borogor's life. If she said no, however, Galen—who was glancing back and forth between them in confusion—would know that something was wrong, and he might discuss it with his peers… any one of whom might have heard a whisper or a rumor about an unusual ambush during the War of the Ring.

"Of course you may," she said reluctantly, with feigned nonchalance.

Galen obviously realized that, whatever Mablung wished to discuss with his lady, it was a private matter; accordingly, he bowed and bade the two of them a good day.  
>Sorry to see him leave, Gúthwyn replied, "Thank you very much for your help today, Galen. I greatly appreciate it."<p>

Galen's eyes lit up. "It was my pleasure, Lady Gúthwyn," he told her sincerely. "Farewell."

Once Galen had departed, leaving Gúthwyn alone with Mablung, she looked at the older Ranger with an expression of what she hoped was polite curiosity. "What did you wish to speak to me about?" she inquired.

"I…" Mablung glanced briefly at the nearby group of Rangers, of which a certain member was watching the two of them with narrowed eyes, and then looked back at her. "I never got the chance to apologize for Celedan's behavior, though it perhaps happened too long ago for my words to amend this grievance."

It had been months since Gúthwyn's terse encounter with Celedan on the training grounds of Ithilien, yet she could hardly blame Mablung for not coming forward sooner: not only did his senior rank place numerous duties on his shoulders, but Éomund's daughter had always gone out of her way to avoid him and the others who had been in the clearing.

"You do not have to apologize for him," Gúthwyn told Mablung, lowering her voice. "He detests me because he does not know the reason why I once hated his lord. Under those circumstances, I cannot say it would be right for me to demand an apology from him, either."

Mablung shook his head. "Celedan is quick to anger and slow to forget. He needs to learn to control his temper, for it is not prudent to show such disrespect towards any guest of Faramir's—especially one who is family."

Gúthwyn started, realizing for the first time that she had never considered herself to be a part of the 'family' in whose house she was residing. To her, Faramir was the man for whom Éowyn had forsaken her _true_ home—Éomund's youngest daughter did not perceive the Steward as a relative, nor as someone to whom she owed any particular kind of allegiance. The dark connection between them separated them even further in her mind, until the mere thought of being a member of his household was incomprehensible. The only _household_she belonged to was hundreds of miles away in Rohan; there was no place for her in Ithilien.

"Well," she finally said, somewhat discomfited, "I… Thank you for your kindness."

There was an awkward moment in which neither of them knew what to say, broken at last when Mablung cleared his throat. "I should head back," he announced, nodding towards his companions. "Enjoy the rest of your day, my lady."

"You, too," Gúthwyn replied, unable to ignore her relief that the encounter was over. Both of them hurried away from each other, he reuniting with the other Rangers and she walking swiftly towards the shelter of the Steward's House.

Once inside, she turned a corner and—quite literally—ran into Cobryn, who was carrying an armload of books. An instant later, both Gúthwyn and the tomes were on the floor, with the former's head aching rather miserably.

"Are you all right?" Cobryn asked her, knitting his brow as he held out a hand.

"You could kill someone with those," Gúthwyn muttered, ignoring the offer of help and instead starting to gather the books. For a moment, she considered remaining irritated with him on account of his beliefs about Haiweth—but, as always, she floundered when it came to holding a grudge against her friend. Sighing, she asked, "Are you really planning on reading _all_ of this?"

She lifted, though not without difficulty, one of the titles: it was at least a thousand-page endeavor and, upon scanning one of the pages, in tiny writing to boot.

"I have already finished it," Cobryn informed her, smirking. Only a flicker behind his eyes indicated that he had noticed her internal struggle and appreciated the result. Crouching down, he picked up the rest of the books and added, "I am lending it to Hammel."

"Cobryn!" Gúthwyn exclaimed, scandalized. "He should be socializing with his peers, not burrowing his nose in a treatise on Gondorian relations with Harad! Why would anyone even bother reading this, anyway, unless they were trying to fall asleep?"

"Believe it or not, my friend, some of us like to educate ourselves once in awhile," Cobryn teased her, taking the offending volume out of her hands. "Your aversion to scholarly learning never ceases to amaze me."

"There are more important things in life!" Gúthwyn protested as they both stood up, her dusting off her gown and him checking the books for damage. "Really, Cobryn, you know that once you give that thing to Hammel he is not going to come out of his room, except perhaps for meals, until he is finished. You do realize that the ball is only three days away? I doubt even he can race through a thousand pages that quickly. I will hold you personally responsible if he does not attend," she mock-threatened, though it may not have been much of an exaggeration to suggest that Hammel would skip such an event to read instead.

"He will not miss the ball," Cobryn assured her, chuckling. "Haiweth made him promise to come, and Hammel agreed on the condition that he would not have to dance with anyone. However, I suspect that Haiweth need not have expended such energy in wheedling him into such an agreement."

"What do you mean?" Gúthwyn asked, frowning in confusion. "Do you think he wants to go?"

Cobryn lowered his voice. "You are not the only one who is concerned about the attention that the Gondorians have been paying Haiweth. Hammel told me that Haiweth informed him about Talathdil last night, hoping that, as her brother, he would take her side: a plan that, needless to say, was not one of her better ideas."

"I saw Hammel this morning… He never mentioned anything to me," Gúthwyn answered, slightly put out by this revelation. Before going to Nestadan's, she had checked Hammel's room and found him reading a book—yet he had brushed her off, clearly too engrossed in the text to carry on a conversation. Sighing, she added, "Then again, he never mentions much to me."

Cobryn chose not to comment; indeed, there was little he could say beyond a false-sounding reassurance. "Are you planning to speak to Bergil?" he inquired.

Gúthwyn hesitated. As much as she wanted to learn more about the mysterious guard who had offered Haiweth, a fourteen-year-old girl, a tour of the White City, she wondered if it would be too paranoid on her part to interrogate Talathdil's companion about the man's virtue. If Bergil repeated their discussion to Talathdil, or if word somehow got back to Haiweth…

"I will," she decided, "if I discover that he has approached her again. Until then… perhaps it would be best if I did not."

"A wise choice," Cobryn agreed, nodding. "He may have simply been offering out of kindness."

Gúthwyn could not help but snort. "Maybe, if Haiweth were far less comely."

"Well," Cobryn said, looking as if he knew that convincing her otherwise was a lost cause, "I should be on my way—Hammel sounded quite eager to start these books."

"You are giving him all of them?" Gúthwyn cried in dismay.

"You know," Cobryn replied, calling over his shoulder as he began walking away, "most people find getting an education to be praise-worthy, not cause for alarm."

"Except for when you are doing so to the detriment of everything else," Gúthwyn muttered under her breath.

"I heard that!"

Rolling her eyes, Gúthwyn turned in the opposite direction and headed towards Éowyn and Faramir's quarters. The knowledge that the latter was currently in a meeting with Aragorn was enough to keep her steps light, and not slow; enough to keep her palms dry, and not clammy with trepidation. Ever since the visit to Legolas's colony in which she had practically walked in on Éowyn and her husband making love, she had always gone warily to her sister's chambers when seeking an audience.

Although, true to Éowyn's word, the walls of her own room were thick so that she did not have to hear anything from the other side, this courtesy almost did not matter. After a few months of living in Ithilien, Gúthwyn had accidentally overheard enough of the servants' gossip to know that Faramir and his wife were enthusiastic lovers. The whispers, laughter, and warm glances exchanged between the couple only confirmed the obvious: the marriage act was performed on a regular basis.

It had been the same with Éomer and Lothíriel, before their union had been dissolved—yet it had always been easier for Gúthwyn to distance herself from this reality, for the queen shied away from public displays of affection. Nor was Gúthwyn well-acquainted with her brother's wife, making the thought of her giving in to her husband less traumatic; it had not created as wide a gap between her and Lothíriel as it had between her and Éowyn.

_Making love is normal for everyone else,_ she chastised herself as she approached Éowyn's room. _You are the only one who cannot grasp this!_

Yet she could not bring herself to consider what it might be like to happily fulfill the obligation of her wifely duties; she felt ashamed and dirty for even attempting. Yes, she could understand kissing. She could understand the occasional touch, provided that it was chaste. She could even understand wanting to fall asleep with someone… but that was it. She could not contemplate doing anything else—not with Borogor, not with anyone.

_Maybe, with Borogor, it would not have been so bad,_ a small voice suggested. _He would have known. He would have been gentle._

_Or it would have been worse, to discover that he was no different from any other man._

Gúthwyn bit her lip, unsure of whether she believed that. To assure herself, she tried to picture being beneath him—yet she got no further than the image of him above her before she had to stop, already trembling and in danger of dredging up worse thoughts.

Suddenly, a throat cleared nearby. "Sister?"

"Wha—yes, sorry, what?" Gúthwyn stammered, coming to and realizing that her feet had already brought her to Éowyn's chambers.

"You were merely standing there," Éowyn pointed out, narrowing her eyes from where she sat at her desk. "Is everything all right?"

"Y-Yes, sorry, I was just distracted," Gúthwyn lied, hurrying into the room. "I… Here." She quickly withdrew the packets that Nestadan had given her, and turned them over to the White Lady. "Nestadan sends his regards."

Éowyn thanked her and set aside the herbs, but still did not seem convinced by Gúthwyn's earlier testimony. "Are you sure that all is well? You looked pale. Have you eaten anything today?"

"Yes, I did," Gúthwyn told her, "and I am fine, really. I… I should be off, though. Enjoy… Enjoy the, er, medicine."

And her retreat would have been swift, had Éowyn not stopped her with a rather unsettling, though not wholly unexpected, piece of news. "Legolas is due to arrive later this afternoon," the White Lady announced, bringing Gúthwyn's steps to a halt. "He will be joining us for dinner tonight."

For a moment, Éomund's youngest daughter did not speak, still processing these tidings. "I… Thank you," she at last said, her voice quiet as she slowly turned back around. "Do… Do you know where he will be staying?"

"In the King's House," Éowyn answered. "It is likely that we will be crossing paths with him frequently."

"Thank you," Gúthwyn repeated, unsure of what else to say or even how to react. "Well… Have a good day."

Both uncomfortable and confused, she edged her way out of Éowyn's quarters and headed to her own room. What perhaps unnerved her the most was the fact that she had not immediately thought of Haldor, that at first she had only considered Legolas and not her tormentor. Yet without the familiar sensations of dread to start twisting her insides, she was left with utter indecision about what else she was supposed to feel. Could she look forward to seeing Legolas, knowing that he had never been anything but kind to her? Or was she at best neutral towards him, still held in check by her memories?

At the very least, one thing was certain: she would have someone to talk to, and moreover someone who would neither judge her nor criticize her. There was, Gúthwyn thought, something to be said for that.


	59. A Change of Heart

**Chapter Fifty-Nine**

Mid-afternoon brought yet another crisis for Haiweth, this time in the form of tea.

"Gúthwyn!" she cried, bursting out of the Steward's House and into the garden where Éowyn and Gúthwyn had been enjoying a leisurely stroll. The girl's face was flushed; she had evidently run a great distance to reach them. This, naturally, raised Gúthwyn's suspicions: Haiweth, after all, was not allowed to wander about the city on her own.

"Where have you been?" Éomund's youngest daughter asked, interrupting Haiweth as the fourteen-year-old opened her mouth a second time.

"I was in the White Tower—I went with Cobryn!" Haiweth exclaimed exasperatedly, irritated by the interrogation. "Queen Arwen was there and she invited me to tea with the other girls, but she said that I had to ask you, so can—may I please go? Please?"

"What other girls?" Gúthwyn questioned, frowning.

"All of the daughters of the lords and ladies," Haiweth promptly reported, looking thrilled to be considered part of this number. "Please, can I go?"

Éowyn said nothing, but her expectant gaze weighed heavily upon Gúthwyn's shoulders. "Why is Arwen having you all over for tea?" Éomund's youngest daughter asked slowly.

Haiweth shrugged, too enthralled by the prospect of inclusion to be overly concerned with the reason behind it. "Does it matter?" she retorted. "She is the _queen_ of _Gondor_!"

"Yes, I am well aware of that," Gúthwyn muttered, then regretted her words an instant later when Haiweth's expression wilted. Sighing, she reasoned to herself that there was nothing sinister about tea. Besides, she could not think of a legitimate concern that would serve to keep Haiweth from attending; and, in any case, Éowyn would likely see right through such an excuse.

Although she very much did not want Haiweth to accept Arwen's invitation, for fear that it would lure Haiweth even deeper into the trappings of Gondorian society, Gúthwyn took a deep breath and said quietly, "You may go."

Haiweth gasped in delight, and threw her arms around Gúthwyn—something that, Éomund's youngest daughter realized sadly, she had been doing less frequently of late. "Thank you!" Haiweth cried, squeezing tightly. It was all too brief an embrace, and Gúthwyn barely had time to return the hug before Haiweth pulled away again.

The girl's face was now taut with dismay, a stark contrast to its expression but seconds before. "Oh, no," she moaned, her hands flying up to press fretfully at her cheeks. "Queen Arwen will be watching how I behave, and the other girls will, too—even if they pretend not to be—and I have never been to a tea before! I do not know any of the rules, or even what tea tastes like, and what if it is terrible and I have to drink it anyway? I am," she announced forlornly, slumping down onto a nearby bench, "completely doomed."

Éowyn and Gúthwyn exchanged glances, but tactfully kept their amusement hidden. "Haiweth," Gúthwyn began patiently, "your manners are perfectly fine. It will be just like dinner last night."

"No, it will not!" Haiweth retorted in frustration, her tone suggesting that it were obvious why Gúthwyn was wrong. "No one was paying attention to me then, since I am not an adult, but today everyone else will be my age. And if I am not as good as the other girls, Queen Arwen will notice. What is worse, they have all probably had years of manners lessons—and I will seem like an idiot in comparison! Will you please," she begged, turning to Éowyn and clasping her hands together in supplication, "teach me what I am supposed to do?"

"Gúthwyn and I would be glad to help," Éowyn replied warmly, "but, I warn you, neither of us were brought up in Gondorian society." She gave a sympathetic smile to Gúthwyn, who was feigning obliviousness to the fact that Haiweth had not asked _her_ for help—for, no matter how unqualified Éomund's youngest daughter was to teach teatime etiquette, it still rankled that Haiweth had completely ignored her.

"Thank you so much!" Haiweth cried, excitedly leaping to her feet. "Can we—may we start now? Please? We only have a couple of hours!"

Laughing, Éowyn replied, "Of course! Come, let us go inside. We shall see what we can do."

The two of them set off towards the dwelling; after a small hesitation, Gúthwyn followed. Moments later, Éowyn had brought them to the dining table and arranged for servants to bring out the necessary silverware—including a pot of tea. It was decided that the White Lady would sit at the head of the table, pretending to be Arwen; Gúthwyn and Haiweth were placed across from each other, the former filling the role of another guest.

The first objective was to teach Haiweth how to navigate amongst the various dishes and utensils that would likely be laid out before her. This part of the lesson was conducted solely by Éowyn, for Gúthwyn was just as mystified as Haiweth by the seemingly endless rules concerning silverware. Éomund's youngest daughter remained clueless; Haiweth, however, proved surprisingly adept at mastering the intricacies of table settings, and was soon ready to move onto the next step.

The second part of Haiweth's training dealt with how to eat and drink according to the strict standards of formality and propriety that Gondorians upheld—which, though considerably less stringent than the expectations of the court at Dol Amroth, were still quite formidable. "You must eat, so that you do not give out the impression that you are turning your nose up at the food, but you must also take care not to overeat, lest you be considered a glutton," Éowyn told Haiweth grimly. "Although Arwen, fortunately, knows that the measure of a person's character cannot be solely determined by how closely he or she adheres to upper class etiquette, it is unlikely that your companions will see things this way. It is best not to give them any reason to complain about your behavior, for it will save you a significant amount of trouble down the road."

"If you wish to spend a lot of time in this society, your reputation will be more important to many than your actual worth," Gúthwyn added darkly, hoping to impress upon Haiweth the gravity of the situation—and perhaps temper her fascination with glittery ball gowns via a much needed dose of disillusionment.

To her consternation, however, Haiweth did not appear remotely taken aback by this revelation. Instead, she was more resolved than ever to earn the approval of her peers, and asked Éowyn to repeat the appropriate times to indulge in food and drink. By the time the White Lady finished, Gúthwyn was thoroughly regretting both having granted Haiweth permission to attend tea and having ever left Rohan in the first place. Had anyone tried to implement these rules in the Golden Hall, they would have been laughed out of the city; yet here, to deviate even slightly was to flirt with social ruin.

Half an hour later, while Haiweth was in the midst of learning how to swallow tea without grimacing (it had been discovered that the drink was not to her liking), Cobryn happened to pass through the dining room. Upon being informed of the task at hand, he asked to sit in on the lesson—and, knowing that he had an uncanny grasp of how to conduct oneself at court, Gúthwyn and Éowyn were more than happy to oblige him.

He sat quietly throughout the remainder of the lesson, occasionally nodding if either of Éomund's daughters gave an important piece of advice. Yet he was otherwise only an observer, evidently having nothing to add to the proceedings.

"Well," Éowyn said at length, smiling at Haiweth, "I believe we have taught you everything that we possibly can about how to conduct yourself during tea with Arwen. Perhaps we should now decide what you are to wear?"

Haiweth gasped—"I have not even thought about an outfit!"—but before she could leap to her feet and dash off to her chambers, Cobryn cleared his throat and intervened.

"There is one more thing," he began, his tone enough to bring Haiweth to a halt, "that you should be aware of."

Haiweth looked warily at Cobryn. "What?" she asked, narrowing her eyes.

"Due to your… unusual living circumstances, I would take care not to discuss or say anything that might lead to an inquiry of your background or family," Cobryn warned. "I am confident that Queen Arwen will not bring the matter up, but some of the other girls may already be curious about you."

"What is so strange about my background?" Haiweth wanted to know, frowning. "Is it because"—she shifted uncomfortably on her feet—"I do not have parents?"

"Rather, because the prevailing assumption is that Gúthwyn is your mother," Cobryn informed her.

Haiweth turned to Gúthwyn, whose face was reddening. "But you are not married," she said slowly.

"Exactly," Cobryn said darkly, when Gúthwyn did not appear capable of speaking.

"But…" Haiweth bit her lip, confused. "If Gúthwyn does not have a husband, then she cannot have children."

Cobryn gave Gúthwyn a searching look, as if gauging how much she had told Haiweth about the act of producing offspring. "The children would be illegitimate," he informed the girl cautiously, "yet they could certainly be brought into existence."

Haiweth's cheeks were beginning to color, and Éomund's youngest daughter could read a thousand questions in her eyes. "People think that… They think that Gúthwyn—"

"Haiweth, you are going to be late if you do not hurry to your room and find an appropriate outfit," Gúthwyn cut in sharply, her throat finally coming unstuck. "Éowyn, perhaps you could accompany her? You will undoubtedly be better at picking out a suitable dress than I."

The White Lady, who had been silently observing the conversation with an uneasy frown, nodded in understanding and quickly escorted Haiweth from the dining room. Haiweth glanced over her shoulder at Gúthwyn as she was ushered out, her face flushed and bewildered.

"Please tell me that she at least has a vague idea of how children are conceived," Cobryn said in the quiet that followed.

"Éowyn had that conversation with her a few months ago," Gúthwyn replied softly, slumping in her chair. "And now you have sparked another fire."

"I know it is a difficult subject for you to address," Cobryn said, lowering himself into the chair next to her, "but there are some things that, as she gets older, Haiweth needs to be aware of—if only to protect herself."

"Yet the more she finds out, the more she will start to question my behavior," Gúthwyn answered, folding her arms across her chest and shrinking into the back of her chair. "I cannot… I cannot be there for her in this regard. I cannot tell her what to expect on her wedding night and I cannot tell her what it means to be forced…" She trailed off, her breathing uneven and her hands trembling.

"Then make an arrangement with Éowyn," Cobryn responded, his voice calm and bringing her back to the present. "Inform Haiweth that she is to discuss these matters only with your sister. In fact, if you want my opinion—which you probably do not—I would strongly encourage her to be open with Éowyn about her questions and concerns."

Gúthwyn swallowed. She did not savor the idea of Haiweth discussing such topics with anyone, even Éowyn. It brought the girl too close to the past, to what had happened in Mordor. Yet Haiweth's curiosity had been aroused, and it was unlikely to abate—especially as her peers grew older and started pursuing one another, if they had not begun to do so already.

"If she asks why," Cobryn continued, "tell her that—as a married woman—Éowyn is more qualified to educate her."

"Haiweth is _fourteen_," Gúthwyn coolly reminded her friend, at last gaining her footing in the conversation. "She does not need to be even contemplating these things, let alone discussing them at length with Éowyn."

"Yet she _is_ contemplating them," Cobryn countered, "and it would be safer for her to discuss them rather than find herself in a situation that could have been prevented with more knowledge."

Gúthwyn bit her lip, unable to come up with a retort but unwilling to give in. Nor did she like the implications of Cobryn's comment, unintentional though she was sure they were: that if she herself had been well-informed, Haldor would not have targeted her. That if she had been smarter, she would still be a virgin. That if Haiweth knew better, no one would ever try to harm her.

"Men are stronger than knowledge," she managed to whisper, hands curling into fists.

"I was not…" The right words temporarily eluded Cobryn, a rarity. "I was not referring to rape," he said gently. "I was referring to a time in the future when she might fall in love with someone, and not realize that she is not supposed to disappear behind closed doors until her wedding night… or what she will be perceived to consent to if she does."

"Haiweth would never do such a thing," Gúthwyn vehemently insisted, her cheeks flaming at the very idea. "She is not foolish."

"What if, at first, it is just a kiss?" Cobryn asked her. "And then, in the excitement of the moment, she agrees to something that she does not understand, because she is young and in love and thinks that she has nothing to worry about?"

Gúthwyn blanched. "Haiweth has been told enough," she said curtly. "She is perfectly aware of what an unmarried woman is not supposed to be doing, as evidenced by the conversation you just had with her."

"As evidenced by the conversation I just had with her, she knows next to nothing about the act of making love," Cobryn rebutted. "It is highly dangerous for a girl her age to be so ignorant about this concept."

"It is not when she is not marrying in the near future!" Gúthwyn exclaimed, shaking with anger.

"I give her ten years," Cobryn shot back. "Ten years before she has a husband, if that day does not arrive earlier. You saw for yourself how the Gondorians stared at her. Sooner or later, it will be decided that she has reached an appropriate age to receive suitors—and they will come, mark my words. Do you truly believe that she will be immune to their charms? That she will spurn them all, just as you did? Let us not forget that she covets the lifestyle you abhor, and that any man who can offer her this will be extremely tempting. When you take into consideration the fact that she has not your reasons for fearing marriage, her wedding another is no longer probable: it is inevitable."

"Your assumption that she will become a wife within a decade is _not_ sufficient cause to discuss these topics with a fourteen-year-old," Gúthwyn insisted, her voice rising. "It is beyond me how you can contend that someone Haiweth's age should be privy to this information!"

Cobryn opened his mouth to respond, but the sound of footsteps quelled them both. The silence was broken when Haiweth and Éowyn appeared in the doorway. Haiweth was busy making several last-minute adjustments to her appearance, but Éowyn's countenance suggested that she had heard, at the very least, raised voices.

"I am so nervous," Haiweth moaned, smoothing down her green dress. "Éowyn, will you please walk with me? _Please?_"

Gúthwyn, who had been about to stand up and offer to escort Haiweth to the King's House, felt as if she had just been slapped in the face. Haiweth had not even glanced at her: all her attention was on the White Lady, who smiled and assured Haiweth that she would be happy to oblige.

"Good luck," Gúthwyn said quietly, hoping, in spite of the situation, that all went well for the girl.

Haiweth seemed not to have heard her, though when Cobryn advised her to remember his warning she promised to be discreet. Not long after, she and Éowyn departed. Gúthwyn, not at all in the mood to continue her discussion with Cobryn, abruptly stood. "Well, I have a letter to write," she announced, pushing her chair in. "Good—"

"A letter to whom?" Cobryn inquired, glancing at her.

"Elfwine," she answered without thinking.

Cobryn raised an eyebrow. "You used that excuse yesterday," he pointed out.

Gúthwyn briefly contemplated lying further and claiming that she had not finished the letter, but instead she shrugged her shoulders. "Does it matter?" she questioned irritably. "Clearly I am sick of talking about this with you."

And, ignoring the taken aback expression on Cobryn's face, she swept out of the room.

* * *

><p>The rest of the afternoon passed by in an excruciatingly slow fashion. Torn between anger at Cobryn, hurt over being ignored by Haiweth, and anxiety about Legolas's arrival—or, rather, the feeling that she <em>should<em> be nervous—Gúthwyn spent the hours alternately pacing around her quarters and trying, fruitlessly, to take a nap and make everything go away.

Cobryn had not knocked on her door, either to apologize or defend himself; and though she pretended that she was glad to not have to speak with him, she found instead that she was annoyed by his absence. She tried to forget about him and concentrate on Haiweth, but she only felt worse when she imagined the girl drinking tea with Queen Arwen and the daughters of the nobility. She wondered what they were conversing about, and doubted that the topics would be anything of substance. Then she decided that she would rather this be so, than have Haiweth's parentage be touched upon.

At length, she guided her thoughts towards Legolas's imminent appearance at Aragorn's dinner table—if only to keep her mind off of the other troubles that were plaguing her. She went back and forth between deciding that she was looking forward to seeing him, to remembering that he was all but Haldor's twin and forcing herself into an anxious state of being. The fact that she _should_ have been more uneasy about encountering Legolas, but was not, caused her great consternation. Had she forgotten everything that Haldor had done to her? Or was this a sign of recovery? Should she be upset that she kept thinking of how relieved she was to finally have someone to talk to without fear or judgment, or should she view this as an accomplishment?

At length, Gúthwyn gave up on pacing and collapsed onto her bed, still mulling over her concerns. Just as the sun was starting to dip below the horizon, she heard a knock on her door.

"Who is it?" she called, sitting up and swinging her legs over the side of the bed.

"Haiweth," was the response, giddy with anticipation.

"Come in," Gúthwyn said quickly, very desirous to know how her meeting with Queen Arwen had gone.

Haiweth all but skipped inside and sank down next to Gúthwyn, heaving a relieved sigh. "I did not embarrass myself!" she declared victoriously. "We talked about our studies, and Queen Arwen even asked to see some of my drawings—I have to find my best ones," she added breathlessly, preoccupation briefly marring her triumph—"and then we talked about the ball, and Queen Arwen said that _everyone_ will be there, and _then_—"

"Slow down!" Gúthwyn chided her good-naturedly, laughing. "There is no time limit."

Looking sheepish, Haiweth checked her pace. "It was wonderful," she began anew, sighing happily. "Not only did I not spill anything on myself, but I also remembered everything Éowyn told me about the silverware. No one had to say anything about their families, either." She gave Éomund's daughter a worried look. "Is Cobryn right?" she inquired hesitantly, her eyes searching Gúthwyn's for confirmation. "Is it true that people will not like me because they believe you are my mother?"

Gúthwyn hesitated. "It is not that they will not like you," she carefully replied; "but they will frown upon you mingling with the nobility, because they consider you to be of inferior birth and because they think my behavior is scandalous."

"Because… Because you are not married?" Haiweth questioned timidly.

"Yes," Gúthwyn confirmed, her pulse quickening.

For a long moment, Haiweth was silent. Occasionally she would open her mouth, but then she visibly cowed and lowered her gaze. Gúthwyn watched her in growing confusion; yet, just as she was about to ask Haiweth what was on her mind, the girl blurted out, "Did you and Borogor… Did you and Borogor ever… well, you know…"

Gúthwyn did not want to know. She froze, the blood rushing in her ears making it difficult to understand Haiweth's stammering. "What Cobryn was saying earlier… a-about how you do not have to be married to… I mean, did you… Did you and Borogor ever do what… what married people do?"

For a horrible instant, Gúthwyn thought she was going to throw up right in front of Haiweth. "No," she whispered, her vision blurring with memories and nightmares and painful sensations of skin against skin. Her head was pounding and she tried to ask why, why on Middle-earth Haiweth was interrogating her like this, but the words were lost before they could even be formed.

"Did you want to?" the girl pressed, her eyes widening in curiosity.

"No," Gúthwyn repeated, bunching her comforter into sweaty fists. She would not imagine it. She would not guess at how his body would have felt, pressing her down onto one of their pallets; or where his hands might have gone, roaming over her trembling limbs; or whether she would have felt more or less pain than with Haldor, if it even mattered.

"But I thought… I thought you loved him," Haiweth said, lowering her voice despite the fact that they were the only ones in the room. "And Éowyn said that… that when you love someone, you… you want to."

Somewhere inside Gúthwyn's chest a scream was building up, slowly but steadily forcing its way through the lump in her throat. "Haiweth, please, go," she choked out, her eyes brimming with the tears it took to resist.

Haiweth's stunned expression vaguely registered in her mind; yet the scream was rising, taking every ounce of self-control with it. "Please, leave," Gúthwyn begged, no longer able to see the girl. There was only Haldor's tent, and a bloody sheet, and Borogor's arms to take it all away.

At some point, Haiweth must have departed, because the soft _click_ of the door finally registered. Just in time, Gúthwyn lunged for the nearest pillow. Suddenly the scream erupted, and her whole body shook as the mattress bore the brunt of her helplessness. "I _did_ love him!" she yelled, the pillow muffling her every word. "I loved him more than you could ever understand!"

Hot tears sprung to her eyes and made her feel like she was drowning, but she did not lift her head: the shrieks were multiplying, one after the other, until she was incoherent with rage and frustration and loneliness. She was sobbing now, tumbling headfirst into a breakdown, unable to control herself as all the emotions that she had bottled up throughout the day finally forced their way to the surface.

As swiftly as it had imploded, her energy was soon depleted. Then she collapsed, her ears ringing as she lay limply across the bed. "What does Éowyn know about what I want to do with the man I love?" she asked hoarsely, no longer capable of raising her voice.

The only answer she received was the dull knock of a growing headache, now pulsing and throbbing at her temples, and she wept in anger. She hated her sister for planting the seed of curiosity in Haiweth, for not comprehending how deep the scars of rape ran; but, above all else, for being the lucky one. Éowyn had a husband who loved her, and she would soon have a son or daughter to care for. Gúthwyn was a broken shadow of her former self, a wreck of a woman who would reach old age alone and childless.

Years too late, she felt the sharp pang of regret. _I should have been brave enough to marry… I would have been a mother by now._

That realization hurt the most of all, and she bit her lip so hard that she tasted copper. The blood gradually mixed with the salt from her tears, as useless and irrelevant as her unexpected change of heart. Her breathing slowed. The room grew quieter, the shadows longer. And then, mercifully, she was gone.


	60. Nothing at All

**Chapter Sixty**

"Gúthwyn. Gúthwyn!"

A persistent voice dragged Éomund's youngest daughter back into the world of the living. She groaned, curling in on herself and trying to pull the blankets tighter around her… but there were none.

With a gasp, she flung herself up and nearly crashed into someone. "Where am I?" she demanded, recognizing Éowyn. Her sister's face was the only familiar part of her surroundings; everywhere else was dark and confusing.

"You are in the Steward's House," Éowyn reminded her, placing two steadying hands on Gúthwyn's shoulders. "By the Valar, baby sister, what happened?"

Gúthwyn blinked, steadily adjusting to the candlelight… and then realizing that her eyes were puffy, her cheeks were stiff and caked with dried tears, and her head was still aching. "Where is Haiweth?" she mumbled, running her fingers through her bedraggled hair. Her throat felt raw and scratched, making speaking difficult.

"In her room, drawing," Éowyn replied. "Yet never mind her, you look miserable! What is wrong?"

"I… What time is it?" Gúthwyn asked, utterly disoriented. Had she slept through the night? Had she missed the dinner with Legolas? "How long have I been—"

"Haiweth said that she left you half an hour ago," Éowyn reported, perturbed. Suddenly, her eyes narrowed at Gúthwyn's mouth. "Sister, are you bleeding?"

Gúthwyn quickly ran her tongue over her lips, and encountered the texture of dried blood. "I…" She sucked at the wound, grimacing at the taste, and felt some of the memories return. A hot wave of embarrassment curled over her: she had completely lost it after her conversation with Haiweth, to the point where she wondered if the edges of her sanity were fraying. Surely someone like Éowyn, Éomer, or Cobryn would not have come undone in that matter?

"Please, tell me what happened," Éowyn urged her, bringing her back to the present with a small shake. "You are worrying me."

Gúthwyn barely knew where to begin. "I… I spoke with Haiweth, after she returned from her tea," she tried, swallowing. "Evidently, she had been ruminating over what Cobryn advised her before she left—because she wanted to know if I… if Borogor and I… if we had ever…"

Éowyn's eyes widened. "How did you answer?" she inquired softly.

"I said no," Gúthwyn replied, her voice hollow, "but then she asked if I had ever desired to… and when my response was the same, she asked me why. According to her," she added sharply, narrowing her eyes at Éowyn, "you claimed that, when you love someone, that is what you wish to do with them."

"Gúthwyn—"

"How easy it must be for you to say this," Gúthwyn cut Éowyn off scathingly, "when you have only ever been with the man you love, and never have had to… to grit your teeth and wait for it to be over…" She clenched her fists, her breathing as unsteady and shallow as it had once been in Haldor's bed.

"Should I have shared that perspective with Haiweth?" Éowyn asked quietly.

"You did not have to give her the expectation that it is always a wonderful experience, and that love can only be proven by lust!" Gúthwyn cried. The implications of Éowyn's statement stung her, and her voice became more subdued as she continued, "I loved Borogor as much as you do Faramir… but were he alive, I would have dreaded our wedding night regardless of how trustworthy I know he was. Would that have made our marriage any… any less valid than yours?"

"Gúthwyn, I was trying to give Haiweth the simplest answers to her questions," Éowyn said calmly, reaching out as if to put a hand on the other woman's shoulder. Gúthwyn jerked away, and for a brief moment hurt flashed across the White Lady's face. "If you want me to, I will discuss… I will discuss rape with her."

"No!" Gúthwyn choked out, horrified by the idea. "I would not have her even _think_ of… of such things!" Even worse, though she did not mention it to Éowyn, was the potential for Haiweth to draw any sort of connection to the behavior of Éomund's youngest daughter.  
>"Then if you would have her remain unaware, you must understand that she will have a different view of what making love means than you do," Éowyn pointed out, though not unkindly. "You cannot cosset her and expect her to fear as you do, nor for her curiosity to abate."<p>

Gúthwyn buried her face in her hands and dug her nails into the flesh beneath, stifling the urge to scream. She wanted everything to go back to the way it had been a few years prior, when Haiweth had been a carefree, innocent girl who gave no thought to anything beyond her drawings or her friends. Yet now there were balls and teas, and strange men staring at her, and Gúthwyn was unable to prevent any of it from happening.

"Stop doing that," Éowyn admonished her, gently prizing Gúthwyn's fingers away from her skin. "We have dinner with Aragorn, Arwen, and Legolas in but half an hour, which is why I came to wake you up—Legolas just arrived."

Gúthwyn gasped in alarm and, after leaping to her feet, raced in front of the mirror to see if she had caused any damage. It would not do to give the king and queen of Gondor, not to mention Legolas, reason to question her sanity. Luckily, the indentations on her cheeks were minor, and would fade in a few minutes.

"What should I wear?" she inquired when her inspection was done, hoping to fill the silence.

Evidently choosing not to comment on the younger woman's frazzled state, Éowyn gracefully rose to her feet and approached the wardrobe. Opening it, she briefly surveyed its contents. "What about this?" she asked, selecting a modest green gown.

Gúthwyn shrugged and accepted the offering, retreating behind the privacy screen to change.

"That was a lackluster response," Éowyn called after her, amusedly.

"What is the difference?" Gúthwyn inquired, shedding her rumpled clothes and donning the dress. "I look the same in all of them."

"That is not true," Éowyn countered. "The blue gown you put on for dinner yesterday, for example, flattered you considerably more than the grey ones you prefer."

Unseen by the White Lady, Gúthwyn shook her head. Neither Éomer nor Éowyn liked it when she wore too much grey, but it was the color she felt most comfortable in. She did not stand out in grey; she did not get as many compliments about her appearance; in short, she attracted less male attention.

Éowyn pronounced her approval when Gúthwyn emerged from behind the screen. "Come, sit down," she bade the younger woman, gesturing towards the bed. As Gúthwyn shot her a quizzical look, she elaborated. "I thought I might brush your hair."

The White Lady's offer was an unexpected boon, and Gúthwyn felt her mood improving as she lowered herself onto the mattress. Éowyn was her closest tie to Théodwyn, the mother she had never known, and sometimes she would pretend that the brush running through her hair was being held by Théodwyn. Occasionally she wondered how different her life would have been if her parents were still alive; but the enormity of such ponderings quickly overwhelmed her, until she could not even begin to contemplate all of the intricacies.

"I ran into Legolas while you were asleep," Éowyn announced while she parted Gúthwyn's hair. "He said that he was looking forward to seeing you tonight."

Though she was uncertain of whether Legolas had singled her out or if he was simply being polite, Gúthwyn found herself blushing. "That was kind of him," she settled on saying, unsure of how to respond.

"Indeed, he seems to think very highly of you," Éowyn replied, inadvertently making Gúthwyn wince when she encountered a knot with the comb.

"No more, I am sure, than he does of you or Faramir," Gúthwyn pointed out quickly, though she did not wait for Éowyn's response before changing the subject. "By the way, sister, how are you feeling?"

"Very well, thank you," Éowyn answered, "although I do have an awful craving for bread…"

Gúthwyn giggled. "I will share the bread basket with you," she promised.

"A thousand thanks," Éowyn said wryly, working steadily at the knot. "Not only will I gain weight because of the baby, but I will have become a glutton as well!"

Laughing, Gúthwyn remarked, "Yet when it is over, at least, you shall have a child."

It took a few seconds for the meaning of her comment to sink in, for the smile to wipe off of her face, and for both of them to realize what came after: _unlike me_.

"Yes," Éowyn replied softly, "I will."

Gúthwyn fell into silence as her sister finished brushing her hair. She did not want to begrudge Éowyn her son or daughter—but no matter how hard she tried to keep the coils of jealousy at bay, they always crept up on her when she least expected them.

"So," Éowyn said, in a clear bid to end the uncomfortable moment, "I assume Haiweth told you that her tea went well?"

"She did," Gúthwyn confirmed, sighing. "I am glad."

"It seems that Arwen has taken an interest in her," Éowyn speculated tentatively, lowering the comb. She sat down next to Gúthwyn, who could tell that her reaction was being closely monitored. The two of them, after all, had often—and recently—argued over Haiweth's immersion in Gondorian society, and the worst of these debates had occurred when Éowyn had suggested that Haiweth seek a position as one of Queen Arwen's handmaidens.

"Speaking of Arwen," Gúthwyn said, abruptly getting to her feet, "I should find the children and tell them that it is time for dinner."

It had not, judging by her sister's expression, been a particularly seamless transition. Gúthwyn held her breath, wondering if Éowyn would say something—but today was not the day. Instead, the White Lady rose as well. "Faramir and I will be waiting for you in the entrance hall," she merely said.

The two of them parted ways, Éowyn returning to her own chambers and Gúthwyn heading off in search of Hammel and Haiweth. She discovered the former in his room, completely engrossed in the book she had discouraged Cobryn from giving him.

"Are we leaving?" he inquired when she knocked on the open door, not even bothering to look up.

"Yes, we are," Gúthwyn answered. She hesitated, then asked, "How is the book?"

Hammel glanced at her in surprise, though his guarded expression swiftly returned. "Fine," he replied shortly, marking his page and setting the volume aside.

Gúthwyn bit her lip, wondering how else to maintain a conversation with the young man who was all but a stranger to her. "Legolas will be here tonight," she finally managed, though no sooner had the words left her mouth than she wished she had never spoken.  
>Hammel emerged from his chambers and shut the door with more force than necessary, barely missing her hand. "I know," he replied shortly. "I already told Haiweth."<br>"What did I ever do to you?" Gúthwyn suddenly burst out, overcome by a flash of anger at the years of sullen silences and malicious mutterings. It came to her just then how wrong his behavior was, and how wrong it was of her to tolerate it. Had she not cared for him nearly all his life, always putting his happiness and comfort before her own? Had she not been as kind to him as he had allowed her to be, working around his distant demeanor and oft infuriating secrecy? Did she not deserve, at the very least, an explanation for his treatment of her?  
>If Hammel was taken aback by her question, he did not show it. Instead, she watched as his features slowly hardened, until his eyes were the only part of him that seemed alive—and they were dark with an emotion she did not want to identify. "You did nothing," he said coldly, his words hanging in the air as if they carried the opposite meaning.<p>

Gúthwyn stared at him. "What—"

He cut her off. "Nothing," he repeated, "at all." And without a backward glance, he strode down the hallway—as if he could not bear to linger in her presence, as if she had truly done something so horrible that he could not even look at her.

"Hammel, wait!" Gúthwyn called after him, but she might as well have been speaking to the walls. For a few seconds after he vanished around the corner, she could hear his rapid footsteps; yet these, too, disappeared, and then she was alone in the suffocating silence.

"_Nothing at all,_" she murmured to herself, perturbed, as she eventually resumed her walk to Haiweth's room. What was the significance of that remark? She had never intentionally harmed Hammel, so it could not have been sarcastic. Yet when had she voluntarily neglected him, or failed to protect him when she could have done otherwise? The answer was not once—and there was so much more she had shielded him and his sister from, though they would never know what it had cost her to do so.

"Haiweth, it is time to go," she called once she reached the girl's chambers, knocking softly on the door.

Haiweth emerged in a flurry of green, her expression hesitant as she beheld Éomund's daughter. "I-I am sorry," the girl burst out almost immediately, looking quite wretched. "I did not mean to make you mad when I asked about… When I asked about Borogor…"

"You have nothing to apologize for," Gúthwyn answered swiftly. "Let us not speak of it."

Haiweth hesitated, then looked at Gúthwyn's dress. "We match," she remarked, by way of peace offering.

"Aye, we do," Gúthwyn replied, smiling. "And you look beautiful."

Haiweth's face could have lit up the night sky. Gúthwyn wondered if this would happen every time someone told her that, or if one day her eyes would dim and seek an escape from unwanted attention.

"Hammel told me that Legolas and the other Elves arrived today," Haiweth mentioned, her delight fading with each syllable. "Will they be eating with us?" she wanted to know, glancing anxiously at Gúthwyn.

_Like mother, like daughter,_ Gúthwyn reflected, though it was a painful reminder that she was not, in fact, Haiweth's mother. "Yes, little one," she replied heavily: another mistake, for Haiweth was not little anymore. "Legolas will, at least. I do not think his companions shall be sitting with us."

Haiweth nodded, absorbing the information with a small frown.

"Legolas is nothing like Haldor," Gúthwyn pointed out to the girl, willing both of them to believe this. "He rescued you from the Snowbourn, remember? Haldor would not have done that." _He would have held you down himself,_ she thought with a shiver.

"Even if he is nothing like Haldor," Haiweth answered, folding her arms protectively across her chest, "I wish we did not have to see him so often."

Gúthwyn felt her eyes widen at this unexpected vehemence. "Haiweth, he only visits a couple of times a year."

"It is more than that," Haiweth retorted. "It felt like he was _always_ visiting Rohan. And now that we live in Ithilien, we will have to see him even more often!" The last sentence came tumbling forth in a rush of distress and helplessness, leaving her breathless with anxiety.

Éomund's daughter stared at her, stunned. It was not news to her that Haiweth had never been comfortable around Legolas, but she was shocked by the magnitude of the girl's unhappiness—and horrified that it had gone undetected for so long. "Haiweth," she murmured, "why did you never say anything?"

Haiweth looked at her. "Because no one ever asked," she replied bitterly.

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><p>While Gúthwyn had known that Legolas's arrival would require a change in the seating arrangements, she had not anticipated that she would wind up sitting next to the Elven prince, their shoulders so close that the slightest movement in the wrong direction would cause them to brush against each other.<p>

"Will you pass the bread?" he asked her in an undertone as the meal commenced, the general discussion turning almost immediately toward tomorrow's ball.

Almost painfully aware of every tingling nerve on her right side, Gúthwyn obliged. She hoped Legolas did not notice how quickly she set the plate down in front of him, for fear of their hands accidentally touching. "Are you looking forward to the ball?" she inquired, because it was the easiest topic to cover.

"Indeed, I am," Legolas replied. His voice was no longer lowered, which Gúthwyn was grateful for: it made the conversation less intimate, less unnerving. "I was hoping that my father would be able to join us, for Aragorn extended an invitation to him, but he has business to attend to."

In spite of herself, Gúthwyn was rather curious about Thranduil. She had heard much about the king from Legolas, often in the form of anecdotes revolving around his strictness, but she had yet to actually meet him. However, this was probably for the best: she could not imagine feeling remotely comfortable around him, especially if he were truly as stern as Legolas had made him out to be.

"I am sorry to hear that," she said carefully, hoping that the opposite was not reflected in her tone.

Legolas smiled ruefully. "Balls are not a favorite pastime of his. I was not expecting otherwise."

"Then he and I have something in common," Gúthwyn observed wryly.

"You are not anticipating tomorrow's festivities?" Legolas inquired, speaking softly so as not to draw Aragorn's attention. "Few from Dol Amroth are attending, if what I hear from Aragorn is correct. Nor are the people here as overbearing as they can be in Imrahil's realm."

"I hardly know anyone," Gúthwyn answered, "and even the Gondorians disapprove of my relationship with Hammel and Haiweth." She glanced at the children, noting sadly that neither of them were in good spirits. Hammel was discussing something with Cobryn, though his responses were shorter than usual and he seemed distracted; Haiweth was, for all appearances, intensely interested in what Arwen was saying to Éowyn, but she was listlessly stirring her soup around and the rest of her food remained untouched.

"Yet I daresay the Gondorians will have, by now, noted your status as one of Aragorn's guests, and will hopefully treat you accordingly," Legolas replied.

"I pray that you are right," Gúthwyn said glumly, fairly certain that he was not. To distract herself from contemplating all the ways in which he was probably spectacularly wrong, she looked again at Haiweth's full plate and wondered if she should say something to the girl in Rohirric. A moment later, however, she recalled that Aragorn understood the language of the Riddermark—it was best to remain quiet.

Aragorn was currently conversing with Faramir about the rebuilding of Osgiliath, a topic which only mildly interested Gúthwyn. Listening to the discussion with half an ear, she surveyed the dishes on the table and attempted to discern which ones were completely without meat. Finally selecting one that looked promising, and luckily was right in front of her, she reached for the serving spoon.

She was not alone: Legolas had done the same, and their hands touched before either of them could rectify their mistake. Muttering variations of "please, after you," both of them immediately yanked their arms back. This in and of itself might not have caused a minor scene, had Gúthwyn not accidentally elbowed her goblet and almost spilled its contents before Legolas swiftly snatched it out of harm's path. "Sorry," they each said at the same time, Gúthwyn blushing furiously.

When Gúthwyn looked up, she realized that their fellow diners were watching them in confusion. "My apologies," she spoke quickly, embarrassed—especially when Arwen's unsettling blue gaze fixed upon her. "I-I did not mean to interrupt your conversation."

"Is everything all right?" Éowyn inquired gently, glancing back and forth between her and Legolas.

"Y-Yes, everything is f-fine," Gúthwyn stammered, mortified by the attention. "I-I was just clumsy, f-forgive me."

This seemed to be enough for Éowyn, and the chatter around Gúthwyn and Legolas gradually recovered. "I-I am sorry," Éomund's youngest daughter repeated quietly, hoping that Legolas was not annoyed by her ungainliness.

"Nay, do not be," Legolas replied. "I should not have startled you."

There was point in pretending he had not, so Gúthwyn smiled uncomfortably and undertook the task of consuming what was on her plate. Neither she nor Legolas reached for the offending dish afterward; instead they let themselves be taken in by the flow of the main conversation, so that the lack of subsequent discourse between them would not be awkward.

While the repairs to Osgiliath were remarked upon in great detail, Gúthwyn let the discussion wash over her and gradually tuned it out entirely. She found herself observing Hammel, who was no longer talking to Cobryn. He appeared to be listening to the others, yet his eyes were slightly unfocused and there was a darkness about his countenance that worried her.

_Nothing at all,_ she repeated to herself, turning the troublesome words over in her mind and searching for a hidden meaning. Perhaps, she thought, it would be best to consult Cobryn on the matter—but no, she was not speaking to her friend. At the same time as she began to regret arguing with him, a familiar flare of anger was sparked by the reminder of his constant meddling in her affairs.

How else would she get through to Hammel, then? Cobryn was one of the very few who could control him—and maybe the only one who had managed to retain the boy's respect while doing so. She herself had not managed to hold a conversation with Hammel for longer than five minutes in… well, she could not remember if she had ever done so, excluding arguments.

She was drawn from her train of thought by the mention of a name, a name which sent shivers up and down her spine. "Reports have reached me that Prince Imrahil is due to arrive tomorrow evening, just before the ball starts," Aragorn was informing Faramir, his brow furrowed.

"This whole situation is rather odd," Faramir admitted, looking perturbed. "My uncle has always been punctual as a rule, and early as a precaution—it is not like him to delay until the last minute."

Aragorn nodded gravely. "I pray that his reasons for doing so now are not the result of any ills which may have befallen him on the journey."

Gúthwyn held her breath, wondering if Aragorn would bring up the subject of Amrothos again—after all, he had guessed the night before that the youngest prince was the source of Imrahil's problems. Yet the king of Gondor evidently had nothing further to speculate on the matter, for he instead proposed that some of the roads connecting Dol Amroth and Minas Tirith were likely in need of inspection.

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed that Legolas was watching her concernedly: he knew how she had been tormented by Imrahil's subjects during their visit to Rohan, and he even knew some of what Amrothos had done to her. It was he who had danced with her in order to keep the lecherous prince away, and he who had first noticed that Amrothos had broken her wrists.

Yet Amrothos would not be in Minas Tirith tomorrow, nor Imrahil's other sons, and there would be few members of the Dol Amroth nobility present. Their memories and ghosts, however, would persist in their absence, and Gúthwyn could not say that she was eager for Imrahil's arrival. She had nothing against the ruler, and indeed she held him in high regard—but though he had treated her with kindness and respect, there would always remain the fact that two of his sons had humiliated her in nearly every way possible.

Sighing, she resigned herself to having to grit her teeth and endure tomorrow's ball. At the very least, she would have something to keep her mind off of Dol Amroth: the formidable task of watching both Hammel and Haiweth. It was difficult to say which would prove more impossible—Hammel was almost unnaturally talented at staying out of her sight, but Haiweth was more outgoing and bound to want to socialize or, worse, dance with her peers.

_Let us hope, _she thought, _that nothing terrible happens tomorrow._


	61. An Exercise in Logic

**Note:** This is the first chapter which has not previously been published in "Recovery" (now "The Horse and the Swan") - so, for those of you who probably hate me now for all the author alerts spamming your inbox, this is the newest chapter of The Rohan Pride Chronicles! P.S. For what it's worth, apparently I put myself on author alerts... so I got all sixty-plus of those emails, too. My inbox feels your inboxes' pain. =/ My sincere apologies to everyone who was spammed! I had no idea author alerts were for story chapters, not just new stories. =(

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><p><strong>Chapter Sixty-One<strong>

It was two hours before the ball was set to start, and Haiweth had already worked herself up into a panicked frenzy. By the time Gúthwyn came by to check on her, she had abandoned her room and stormed into Hammel's. "Look at my hair!" she wailed to her brother, who was reclining on his bed and clearly annoyed by the sudden interruption, as Gúthwyn appeared in the doorway. "It is a complete and total mess, and all of the other girls will laugh at me!"

"Haiweth, your hair is beautiful as always," Gúthwyn patiently assured her, watching in amusement as Haiweth glared at herself in Hammel's mirror.

"No, it is not!" Haiweth cried in frustration. Hammel surreptitiously blocked an ear with his shoulder and turned to the next page in his book. "And I have nothing to wear, because I have already used my best dresses!"

"Well, that is your own fault, is it not?" Hammel could not resist retorting.

"You would not understand," Haiweth replied, rounding on him. "You have done nothing but read ever since we got here, and you do not need fancy clothing for that. Yet I had to wear my nicest gown yesterday for tea with Queen Arwen, and I cannot wear it again!"

Gúthwyn could not help but grin, thinking of the brand new green dress that was hanging in her wardrobe. "I may have something for you," she told the girl, doing her best to keep her face impassive.

"All of your dresses are too small for me," Haiweth reminded her, sighing.

"This one should be the right size," Gúthwyn replied, already halfway out the door. "I will be back in a moment!"

Hurrying towards her chambers, she quickly retrieved the gown Éowyn had commissioned for Haiweth based off a design that Gúthwyn had temporarily filched from the girl's collection of drawings. The result was flawless, and both of Éomund's daughters had been stunned when they saw Haiweth's work brought to life. If only she had money of her own, Gúthwyn would have paid for all the other sketches to be turned into gowns as well.

When she returned, Haiweth was frantically trying to decide whether she should put her hair in braids to, as she put it, "hide how hideous it really is." Hammel's only input existed in the form of sighs and rolling eyes.

"Haiweth?" Gúthwyn called, hiding the dress behind her back.

The girl quieted and looked questioningly at her. With a grin and a flourish, Éomund's daughter held out the gown. "How about this one?" she inquired.

Haiweth's expression underwent a rapid series of shifts, from surprised to excited to bewildered in one fell swoop. "Is that… Is that my dress?" she finally asked, gaping at the outfit as if she were seeing a ghost.

Gúthwyn nodded, beaming and silently thanking Éowyn for her generosity.

"F-From my drawing?" Haiweth stammered, looking afraid to even touch the gown—as if doing so would shatter the moment into fragments of a dream.

Again, Gúthwyn nodded. By now, Hammel had lowered his book and was watching them in interest; he did not appear to recognize the garment, but he had evidently made the connection by listening to his sister.

"How did you… How did the dressmaker know…" Haiweth could scarcely get the words out, so overwhelmed was she.

Gúthwyn explained how she had commissioned the outfit, with Éowyn's permission, by borrowing the desired sketch. Haiweth was stunned that she had not noticed the drawing's absence. "How long was it out of my room?" she wanted to know.

"Not for more than an hour," Gúthwyn assured her. "I had Éowyn distract you with dancing lessons."

Understanding at last how she had been duped, Haiweth finally summoned the courage to accept the dress. She carefully unfolded it, allowing the shimmering green fabric to fall gently towards the floor. Though it was not the first time she had seen the effect, Éomund's daughter was once again impressed by the silver threads, painstakingly woven into the material, which made it appear as if the whole outfit were sparkling. Even Hammel's eyes widened.

Haiweth's seal of approval was immediate. "This is amazing!" she squealed, running over and engulfing Gúthwyn in a tight embrace. "Thank you so much!"

Gúthwyn returned the hug, delighted by the girl's happiness. "I am glad you like it," she murmured, wishing she could hold onto this moment for a lot longer than it would last. It seemed like it had been years since she had gotten something right as far as the children were concerned, and she hoped that her relationship with Haiweth would improve as a result of tonight—even if only slightly.

When they pulled apart, she said, "Thank Éowyn as well, for this gift is from both of us."

"I will," Haiweth promised, her eyes shining as she gazed at the gown. "But first, can I try it on?"

Laughing, Gúthwyn shooed Haiweth back into her own room to change. "Hurry, and show us after!" she instructed the girl's retreating figure.

In the silence that followed, Hammel turned another page in his book. Emboldened, perhaps, by her success with his sister, Gúthwyn looked at him and tentatively inquired, "Hammel, can we talk about last night?" She was still puzzled by the enigmatic _"Nothing at all"_ he had uttered when she had asked him why he was always so furious with her; a full day of rumination had failed to produce any sort of conclusion.

Hammel barely glanced up from his tome. "Can we not?" he replied icily.

"Hammel, please," Gúthwyn whispered, ignoring the foul glare she received when she went so far as to sit on his bed. "I know I have made my mistakes," she began, nervously twisting her hands, "but I do not understand what I have done to anger you."

She braced herself: would he finally confirm what she had suspected for years, that he knew what Haldor had done to her? Would he finally admit that he had overheard a whispered conversation with Borogor, or—perhaps she did not want to find out—that he had born witness to one of the rapes?

Instead, he gave her a withering look. "Did you honestly believe that the best time to discuss this was in the five minutes it will take Haiweth to put on her dress?"

"When else will you tolerate my company?" Gúthwyn asked sadly.

"I have nothing to say to you," Hammel answered, his voice flat and devoid of any emotion.

His words set her ablaze with ire. "You would be dead if it were not for me!" she hissed, reaching over and forcing his book downward so that he had no other choice but to look at her. "You would not be sitting here, reading—you would not even know _how_ to read—if it were not for me! It is _I_ who have ensured for over a _decade _that you are fed, clothed, and sheltered far beyond the means of most children your age!"

"Rest assured that the only reason I continue to rely upon your patronage is because Haiweth is not capable of supporting herself," Hammel said coldly, yanking the book out of her grasp. "Were it not for her, I would have removed myself from your responsibility long ago. I stay with you for her, and for her alone. The moment she marries, I will be leaving you as well, and I hope we never have to see each other thenceforth."

It was as if he had reached down her throat, into her chest, and taken fistfuls of her breath and ripped all the air out of her lungs. Gúthwyn felt herself turn pale with horror as she gaped at him, stunned by how easily the hateful words had fallen from his mouth. He stared defiantly back at her, as if daring her to give in to the tears that they both knew were welling up in her eyes.

"What do you two think?" Haiweth asked, twirling through the doorway. She stopped when there was no response, and her grin faded when she caught sight of her audience's expressions. "What happened?" she demanded.

"N-Nothing," Gúthwyn managed, forcing a smile on her face. It felt like a glove that was too tight. Blinking rapidly to clear her vision, she struggled to focus in on Haiweth. When at last she could see, she was amazed by the sight in front of her.

Where before she had been a girl, giddy with excitement over her new dress, now Haiweth looked like a young woman—and one in whose honor the ball should have been held, not an anonymous attendee. The gown complimented her perfectly, gathering gently at her waist and emphasizing her slender arms. She had evidently decided against putting her hair in braids, for now it tumbled down her shoulders in loose curls, shining in the candlelight.

This new Haiweth was most assuredly not Gúthwyn's daughter.

"Oh, little one…" Gúthwyn murmured, scarcely able to believe her eyes. Overwhelmed with emotion, though in truth a significant part of it was the remnants of her conversation with Hammel, she was dimly aware of her cheeks turning wet as she exclaimed, "You look beautiful!"

Haiweth thanked her, albeit with much confusion, and again she glanced back and forth between her brother and Éomund's daughter in a fruitless search for answers.

Dodging the girl's questioning gaze, Gúthwyn swallowed and said, "I-I should go… I-I need to get ready."

"All right," Haiweth replied, utterly perplexed. "Thank you for the gown," she added uncomfortably.

Gúthwyn nodded, the best response she could manage, and retreated from the room. No sooner had she slipped outside than she heard Haiweth ask accusingly, "What did you say to her?"

Gúthwyn hesitated in the hallway, hoping to gain some insight from Hammel's explanation, but he merely said, "Nothing that she should not have already figured out."

There was a brief silence. Gúthwyn was about to give up and depart when she heard, "I do not understand why you hate her so much. You are so rude to her, even when she has done nothing wrong!"

"I have my reasons," Hammel answered cagily.

"You always have your reasons," Haiweth retorted, "but they never make sense."

When Hammel's voice did not sound again through the door, Gúthwyn sighed in disappointment and walked away. Her every step felt heavy, weighed down by a swamp of misery. The only source of consolation she had was that Haiweth would not become a wife for several years—and so she had some time left with Hammel, although she did not know what good would possibly come out of it.

"Sister!"

Gúthwyn started, but it was only Éowyn. The White Lady was approaching, already dressed for the evening in a splendid blue gown. The color made her hair look as if it had truly been spun out of gold—even moreso than usual, that was.

She was about to compliment her sister when Éowyn inquired, "You have not changed for the ball already, have you?" Her eyes flicked over the simple grey dress that Gúthwyn was wearing.

"Nay, I have not," Gúthwyn assured her, hoping that nothing was amiss about her tone. Otherwise, Éowyn might guess that something had transpired recently, and she had no desire to discuss her conversation with Hammel.

"Good," Éowyn replied, taking Gúthwyn by the hand and all but dragging her into the room she shared with Faramir. "I have something in mind for you."

"Y-You do?" Gúthwyn asked in alarm. She had already decided on what she was wearing to the ball, and it was lying in wait upon her bed: another grey gown, though this time with nicer detail work, and a modest circlet that indicated her status in as unobtrusive a way possible.

"Indeed, I have been saving it for you. I handed down most of my dresses to Haiweth, but I thought this one would compliment your features more." Éowyn began rummaging through her wardrobe, searching for the garment in question. "Speaking of Haiweth, did you give her the gown?"

"I did, and she loved it," Gúthwyn reported, watching Éowyn in trepidation. Whenever Éomer requested that she wear a specific outfit to a gathering, it was rarely something that she herself would have chosen; she hoped it would be different with Éowyn. "She looked wonderful in it, I could hardly believe it."

"She would look wonderful in just about anything, I deem," Éowyn replied cheerfully, straightening. "Now, baby sister, I hope you are not angry…"

Gúthwyn had a sinking feeling as to which dress Éowyn would present to her, and she was right: when Éowyn turned around again, she was holding out something very white.

"I already have a gown," she immediately protested, clenching her fists. Did Éowyn not understand how wrong it would be for her to wear white, to claim virtue when she had none?

"I saw it on your bed," Éowyn responded, in such a way that implied she had not thought much of the selection, "but come, this color suits you better."

"Nay, it does not," Gúthwyn replied shortly. "I already have a gown," she repeated, edging towards the door. "Thank you for the offer, though."

Éowyn sighed in exasperation. "Sister, what on Middle-earth is your aversion to white? It seems utterly absurd."

"It is not 'absurd,'" Gúthwyn ground out. "I just do not want to wear it."

"You are being completely ridiculous," Éowyn informed her sternly.

Gúthwyn snapped, for being called 'ridiculous' over something very real and distressing to her was more than she could bear—especially after everything that had already happened today. "I have no right to wear that color!" she hissed, shaking with anger and humiliation. "Why do you insist on forcing me into white dresses, when we both know that I am as far from pure as any tavern whore?"

Éowyn gasped, but Gúthwyn ignored her. "As if I need another reminder of what he did to me!" she snarled, her face reddening. "You and Éomer both, how could you be so oblivious to something so obvious?"

"Baby sister…" Éowyn began, uncertain how to continue.

"Do not 'baby sister' me!" Gúthwyn exclaimed shrilly. The patronizing nature of the nickname was, at this moment, wholly unwelcome. "The two of you act like you never have to consult _my_ feelings on what is best for me, because I could not possibly know—"

"That is not true," Éowyn said quietly, though without conviction.

"Yes, it is!" Gúthwyn retorted. "First you tried to pressure me into marriage, then Cobryn tried to get me to tell Éomer about Lothíriel—"

"What does Cobryn have to do with this?" Éowyn questioned, knitting her brow.

Gúthwyn flushed, for she had not intended to drag her problems with him into the mix, but she quickly recovered and explained, "He is just as guilty as you and Éomer! And now you and he are instructing me on how to raise Haiweth, when neither of you have had"—she broke off, unwilling to cross that bridge even when Cobryn was out of hearing range—"as if she had become my charge yesterday, and I had not successfully cared for her for over a decade! Then, to top it off, you presume to tell me how I should dress, never mind what _I _want to wear, of course, because white 'suits me better'!"

The outburst left her breathless, and she found that her chest was heaving up and down in a frantic bid for both air and self-control. While she knew that Éowyn had needed to hear the rant, she hated arguing with her sister: it had been years since they were guaranteed to see each other every day, and even now she felt like she was squandering precious time together.

There were giant splotches of red on Éowyn's cheeks; she evidently had no idea how to respond to Gúthwyn's accusations, at least not in a way that would do anything but make them true. After a long pause, she murmured uncertainly, "You do not have to wear the gown."

It was so inadequate a reply that Gúthwyn nearly started yelling at her again, but instead she took a deep breath and willed herself to remain calm. "Do you at least understand why I hate the color?" she inquired slowly.

Éowyn started, but appeared to have somewhat regained her footing in the conversation. "Gúthwyn… you may not be a virgin," she began uncomfortably, "but I would not say that you are impure."

Gúthwyn gaped at her sister in astonishment, even anger. "What do you mean?" she demanded harshly, folding her arms across her stomach. "What else could I possibly be?"

"You never chose to make love before marriage," Éowyn pointed out. "You were forced into it, and that is an entirely different matter."

"What are you talking about?" Gúthwyn growled, inexplicably frustrated by Éowyn's attempt to let her off the hook. How many times, after all, had she hung herself there?

"If you ever marry," Éowyn said patiently, "you will go to your husband having never willingly lain down with another man. I wedded Faramir in the same state, did I not? Why should the fact that you were… that you were raped, and I was fortunate enough to not have experienced such violation, make you any less 'pure' or 'virtuous'?"

"If I ever marry," Gúthwyn countered, trembling, "I will go to my husband as a woman who is no longer a virgin. Thus, I am impure."

"But you did not willingly surrender your virginity," Éowyn reiterated; "and so I cannot call you 'impure,' when you have yet to voluntarily lie with a man outside of marriage—nor do I believe you ever will."

Gúthwyn thought of the time she had gone to Haldor after Borogor's death, and felt sick. She did not share this with Éowyn.

"Yet, if truth be told," the White Lady continued pensively, "the more I consider how perfectly fine it is for _men_ to make love before their wedding night, the less I am inclined to give weight to the view that it is terrible for a woman to do the same."

Gúthwyn was so shocked that, for a moment, she forgot her own case. "But of course you should be a maiden when you marry!" she exclaimed, her face turning bright red.

"Why?" Éowyn inquired mildly.

"B-Because your husband is supposed to be the only one you are ever w-with!" Gúthwyn spluttered, mortified to be debating this subject.

"And the same is not true in reverse? A man's wife is not supposed to be the only one he is ever with?" Éowyn questioned.

"That is different," Gúthwyn answered stiffly.

"How so?"

"Men cannot control themselves," Gúthwyn said, her grim exterior ruined by the tremor that rippled through her body as she spoke.

"They are no less capable of controlling themselves than you or I," Éowyn corrected her. "In fact, I would argue that they are in a better position to do so."

Gúthwyn narrowed her eyes in confusion, for she was not convinced that men were able to restrain themselves—and Éowyn's claim that _women_ were less disciplined was extraordinarily jarring.

"Think about it," Éowyn urged her. "When Haldor violated you—which he alone decided to do, which no one had forced him into doing—did you have any control over the situation?"

"No," Gúthwyn admitted, recalling Haldor's threat to kill the children. She tried not to remember any other specifics of that night.

"Then, if you are willing to pardon men on the excuse that they are slaves to their own desires, why can you not pardon yourself for being a slave to someone else's desire?" Éowyn wanted to know.

Gúthwyn flinched, staring at the white gown as if it had caused all of her troubles. Though Éowyn's words were indisputably logical, she could not bring herself to accept them. It was easy for the White Lady to make this argument when she had never experienced such humiliation; when it was not her pride, self-respect, and dignity that had been utterly destroyed.

Before she could say anything, however, there was a knock on the door. "It is Faramir," they heard. "Am I interrupting something?"

Éowyn glanced at Gúthwyn, yet Éomund's youngest daughter determinedly kept her face inscrutable. "Nay, you are not," the White Lady eventually called back, sighing.

The door opened and Faramir stepped inside, surveying the scene before him. As always, Gúthwyn avoided his gaze, then felt bad and met it, only to wish that she had not given in to her guilt.

"I was just wondering if the two of you were ready to convene in the entrance hall," Faramir said, smiling when he saw what Éowyn was wearing. A compliment was clearly on the tip of his tongue, yet he faltered when he saw the expression on Gúthwyn's face. "Is everything all right?" he inquired concernedly.

"Everything is fine,' Gúthwyn cut in quickly, well before Éowyn had a chance to even open her mouth. "Sister, go on without me. It will not take me long to change."

Éowyn hesitated, then nodded reluctantly. With another sigh, she gently laid the white dress upon her bed. "As you wish," she agreed quietly. "Come, Faramir. I will see if Hammel and Haiweth are ready."

The two of them left the room, though not without Faramir glancing quizzically over his shoulder at Gúthwyn. Once they were gone, Éomund's youngest daughter did not return to her own room; instead, she gingerly sat on the bed and gazed glumly at the white gown. _Is Éowyn right?_ she wondered, tentatively reaching out and touching the fabric. It felt wonderfully soft beneath her fingers, and she longed for the luxury of being able to wear such a garment… yet she had no right to besmirch this cloth.

_You may not be a virgin, but I would not say that you are impure._

Éowyn's words echoed in her mind, almost immediately encountering opposition. _What does Éowyn know?_ Gúthwyn asked herself, glancing down at the legs Haldor had so often defiled. _She is probably only saying this because I am her sister, and because she pities me. Not because it is true._

Did Éowyn actually believe that, if men were allowed to visit whorehouses before their wedding night, women should not have to remain virgins for their husbands? Gúthwyn struggled to comprehend this, as always returning to the one example she had: Borogor. Even if Haldor's abuse had never happened, even if the ambush in Ithilien had never taken place, would she have wanted to make love to Borogor marrying him? She simply could not imagine it.

_If I had not been raped, I would have remained pure,_ she thought slowly, puzzling out Éowyn's reasoning. _When Haldor forced himself on me, I did not have control._ Which meant that, if men were not considered impure for having lovers before marriage—because, she reminded herself, they lacked self-control—she should not be considered impure for what Haldor had done, when she was powerless to stop it. Just as men were animals by nature, and could not overcome this inherent trait.

Gúthwyn bit her lip, perturbed. She thought of Éomer and Théodred, whom she had all but worshipped when she was younger, and reminded herself that even they were not immune to lust. Éomer certainly had not been a virgin when he wedded Lothíriel; and, judging by the occasional comment she had heard since returning to Rohan, Théodred had brought many women to bed with him—yet he had never married.

Then something occurred to her, something that made her heart freeze and her blood run cold: what if Borogor were no different? What if he, too, had lain with a woman?

"No," she whispered, hot tears forming in her eyes as she trembled in disbelief. "Not you…"

But he had been so young when he and Beregil were captured; too young, surely. If he had made love to anyone, it would have been in Mordor—and sometime before her arrival. Immediately she racked her brain, desperately seeking memories she had long tried to suppress: namely, the thousands of lewd comments concerning women that she had heard at the training grounds.

As far as she knew, however, Sauron had long ago ceased rewarding his soldiers with shipments of women from the fields of Nurn. She prayed that this was so. The mere contemplation of Borogor taking pleasure from a slave, from someone who had no choice in the matter, was sickening.

_Borogor would _never _do something so vile,_ she thought, shaking her head in vehement denial. Not when he had shown her such kindness, not when he had held her in his arms after her first taste of Haldor's brutality. If he had made love to anyone, it would have been with nothing less than their absolute consent. She was certain of that.

This notion comforted her, but also opened new doors of misery. Though she could say that it was highly unlikely Borogor had lain with someone, she would never know for sure—and if by chance he had, he had never told her. Nor had he so much as mentioned another woman's name in her presence, save for his mother's. Why had she not thought to ask him while he was alive? It was agonizing, wondering whether or not he had slept with anyone. Had he ever been in love?

Gúthwyn swallowed, feeling an aching hollowness settle at the bottom of her stomach. Suddenly, she doubted the strength of Borogor's attachment to her. Despite the fact that she had counted on it for years, now she wondered if she had been deceiving herself. He had been hoping to marry her—but why? There was no point in it, not when they were facing a life in Mordor. What had his intentions truly been?

Her misery increased when she looked again at the white gown. Though she felt more alone than ever, in a few short moments Éowyn and Faramir were expecting her to meet them in the entrance hall—dress donned, hair brushed, and presentable to a fault—and accompany them to a ball she now had no interest in attending.

She thought of the grey gown that was waiting for her in her room, a conservative shade of safety and security. If she wore that, she would not be lying. She would not be an imposter or a mockery, which was all she could amount to in the white dress. Wearing white, meanwhile, meant false pretenses, self-consciousness, and compliments she did not deserve.

_What about Éowyn?_ she asked herself, her mind returning to the case her sister had presented. _What if she is right?_

Again, she walked through Éowyn's argument: she was not a virgin, but she was also not impure. She was not impure, because she had had no control over Haldor claiming her. If men were not deemed impure, since they were unable to resist their urges, then she could not be deemed impure when _she_ had been unable to resist Haldor. Gúthwyn whispered these reasons to herself, repeating them until they fit together. Yet even when she thought she understood, she continued to teeter on the edge.

_Could I really be pure, after all those years in Mordor?_ she wondered in despair, staring at the white gown as if it had the power to answer her questions. _Or is Éowyn wrong?_

Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath. Then she counted down from ten and, when she reached one, she made her decision.


	62. The Festivities Begin

**A/N:** I wanted to take a moment to apologize for something that happened on my Formspring page, as well as to clarify my intentions with this story. About two weeks ago, a survivor posted there to tell me that they were offended by my portrayal of Gúthwyn as someone "who is constantly a victim and refuses to make any progress," and that such a portrayal was only reinforcing the stereotype of rape victims as weak and helpless. In my rush to apologize for unconsciously perpetuating this stereotype, and to assure the person that I was _not_ suggesting that all rape survivors will have the same experience, I failed to point out that, no matter how much of a "caricature of trauma" Gúthwyn's story might seem, there is absolutely nothing wrong with taking as long as she has to recover. Because I did not make this clear in my response, I inadvertently upset another survivor, who rightly pointed out that "some people will have issues for the rest of their lives, they are not victims because of that."

Long story short, I just wanted to clear the air about what's going on with the Rohan Pride Chronicles. I am _not_, by any means, trying to imply that Gúthwyn's story is the only story of a survivor. I understand, though, that it might come across that way sometimes—simply by virtue of Gúthwyn being the only living rape survivor whose point of view is shown. It is not at all my intention, however, to suggest that every survivor shares her experience. That said, there is nothing wrong with her—and other survivors—taking years and years to recover, or even not recovering at all. I sincerely apologize for not saying this in the first place, and for hurting someone as a result of my omission.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Sixty-Two<strong>

The evening's festivities were to be held in the Tower of Ecthelion, putting to use the oft-empty ballroom behind the main hall. Gúthwyn had never been inside this ballroom: during her sole summer sojourn in Minas Tirith, all the celebrations had taken place under the stars. Nevertheless, she was grateful for the change of location. It was excessively cold outside, and she found herself wishing for a thick coat as she followed Éowyn and Faramir out of the Steward's House.

While they walked, Éowyn filled her in on what she could expect at the ball. "There will be dining first, and dancing after," the White Lady explained, drawing from a store of knowledge that had accumulated over the years. "Although there are some traditional dances, there will be plenty of songs for which you are not required to know any steps."

"Thank the Valar," Gúthwyn started to say, but then she stopped—after all, excepting Legolas for perhaps one waltz, she had no prospective dancing partners and would likely be sitting for most of the evening. _The better to keep an eye on Haiweth,_ she thought, looking worriedly at the girl.

"Now, when we arrive," Éowyn continued, "there will be a small foyer, and beyond that a staircase leading down into the ballroom."

Gúthwyn grimaced, sensing an opportunity to trip and fall flat on her face in front of the denizens of Gondor.

"Do not worry," Éowyn told her, catching sight of her expression as it was illuminated by the light coming from the White Tower. "You will be with Faramir and I, so you will not be under so much scrutiny."

"I doubt that," Gúthwyn muttered. She doubted that any of them would approve of her choice of dress. Even now, tugging at her sleeves, she was not sure that she disagreed with them. As much as she tried to convince herself that she had accepted Éowyn's argument, and as much as Éowyn's approving smile and Haiweth's gasp of delight upon seeing the white gown had temporarily emboldened her, she still was not completely comfortable with her outfit.

While she was fussing over her clothes, Faramir finished his conversation with Beregond and rejoined them. "Prince Imrahil's company arrived half an hour ago," he announced, frowning, as they began to ascend the stairs leading into the Tower.

"Half an hour ago?" Éowyn repeated, shocked. "That is cutting it quite close! I assumed they came here earlier in the day—not that I had heard anything, for I have been inside all afternoon, but Imrahil usually does not delay until the last minute."

Gúthwyn swallowed, part of her wishing that she could retreat to her bedroom and not emerge until the ball was over. She had no qualms with Prince Imrahil, but there were bound to be at least a few people in his entourage for whom the sight of her in a white dress would be cause for grave offense.

Faramir sighed, clearly at a loss. "He will probably be late to the ball, which is highly unlike him. I am most curious about this whole situation indeed."

"Perhaps it has naught to do with Amrothos, but rather a court issue that arose at the last moment," Éowyn suggested, lowering her voice in the vain hope that Gúthwyn, who had fallen a few paces behind while worrying over her dress, would not overhear her.

Éomund's youngest daughter wished that the mere mention of Amrothos did not have so much power over her, but she could not suppress the tremors rippling down her spine. Again, she was assailed with self-doubt: what was she doing, wearing this gown? She had been a fool to let herself be won over by Éowyn's naïve words.

She longed to turn to Cobryn for support, for he was walking just a few feet behind her, but she steeled herself to ignore him. As childish as it was, she did not want to confide in him when he had been so stubborn about Haiweth. No matter how much she missed his company, no matter how much it felt like a significant part of her life and a crucial component of her emotional wellbeing was gone, she would not give in—not while he held the same views on Haiweth's upbringing.

When they reached the top of the stairs, Faramir led them through an enormous set of doors. Gúthwyn's eyes were just as wide as Haiweth's: she had never seen such a grand chamber. Though hundreds of people were already milling about in the foyer and, consequently, blocking her view of most of the ballroom, what she could observe was magnificent.

Someone—likely Queen Arwen—had gone to great effort to coordinate the decorations, for it looked like an entire garden had been planted indoors. There were flowers and garlands everywhere, spilling from the walls and onto the tabletops as ornate centerpieces. Gúthwyn felt quite overwhelmed, especially when she tilted her head back and glanced up at the ceiling. It was extraordinarily high, lending a sense of grandeur to the occasion. Already, she knew she was out of place.

"This is amazing!" Haiweth gasped a few feet to her right, her hands flying to her mouth.

"Is it not?" Éowyn asked with an amused smile. "And you shall be the prettiest girl here!"

Gúthwyn did not hear Haiweth's response—she was too busy scanning the crowd for members of Prince Imrahil's delegation. There were none in sight; then again, she could not see beyond the staircase leading down into the ballroom. She sincerely hoped that they had not yet arrived, for she needed time to gather her bearings before being confronted by that particular ghost from her past.

"Sister, come, we are about to head down," Éowyn said just then, breaking through the hazy cloud of her thoughts. "Are you ready?"

Gúthwyn shook her head, immediately daunted by the prospect of joining the unfamiliar throngs. "I… I think I shall stay up here for awhile," she declared, prompting Haiweth to glance worriedly at her. "Haiweth, go on with Éowyn," she encouraged the girl, knowing that she was alarmed by the possibility of having to remain behind.

"Are you sure?" Éowyn inquired concernedly, exchanging a troubled look with Faramir. Leaning closer, she added quietly, "Are you nervous about how the Gondorians will react to your presence?"

"Not at all," Gúthwyn lied. "Please, go on without me. I shall join you in a few minutes."

Éowyn surveyed her for a moment, but eventually she took Faramir's hand. "We will be at the table on the far side of the room," she told Gúthwyn. "See you soon, baby sister."

Gúthwyn stepped aside and let Faramir's entourage pass her—and pretended not to notice Cobryn, who sent her a questioning glance as he walked by with Hammel. In order to avoid quizzical stares from the other Gondorians in the foyer, she distanced herself from the staircase and sought refuge in a corner between the wall and the railing overlooking the scene below.

From her vantage point, she watched Éowyn and Faramir wend their way through the crowds of Gondorian nobility. She recognized none of the people whom they stopped to greet, and she could not help but wistfully remember those times when she easily conversed with everyone she ran into during a feast at Meduseld. Now, more than ever, the constraints of her drastically reduced social circle were sharply felt.

Yet, at the very least, tonight the view from the sidelines would be entertaining. Gúthwyn briefly lost track of her sister as she stared in awe at the masses of glittering gowns, she herself hopelessly plain by comparison. Some of the outfits even outdid Haiweth's, though Gúthwyn privately thought that no one looked better. Still, while not as ostentatious as the ladies of Dol Amroth, the women of Gondor were certainly capable of turning heads.

Éomund's daughter gazed down at herself, taking in her flat chest and assuredly not shimmering dress, and hoped that no one would think less of her for not being able to hold a candle to her peers. The last thing she needed was for the Gondorians to believe that she had not even tried to make herself presentable for the ball. She did not want to embarrass Éowyn—and, she grudgingly had to admit, Faramir—by being poorly-clothed for the occasion.

When she looked back at the White Lady and her husband, they had already reached the head table and were conversing with Aragorn and Arwen. Arwen was flawless as usual in a deep blue gown that drew out the color of her eyes. Gúthwyn stared enviously at her, wondering how it was fair that Arwen should be so beautiful and get to marry the man she loved—whereas Éomund's youngest daughter had to be content with a memory. _What did Arwen ever do to deserve a happy ending?_ Gúthwyn bitterly asked herself. _Why can I not have the same thing?_

_Because you, unlike Arwen, are not pure,_ came the unbidden response, causing her to flinch.

"Gúthwyn?"

It was lucky that the railing was in front of her, for otherwise she might have toppled over the edge in surprise. Grabbing the banister to steady herself, she turned and saw Legolas less than a yard away from her.

"Y-You startled me," she confessed, blushing when she caught sight of his worried expression.

"My apologies; that was not my intent," Legolas replied sincerely. "May I join you?" he added, gesturing towards the railing.

Only when Gúthwyn nodded did he step closer, and only when she nodded again did he stand beside her. "Why have you not yet gone down to the festivities?" he inquired, a hint of concern in his voice.

Gúthwyn shrugged, watching as Faramir held Éowyn's chair out for her. "I suppose that I am not in the mood for my every move to be criticized," she said glumly, turning her attention to Hammel. The boy was clearly uncomfortable with his surroundings and his clothes; he kept tugging discreetly at his tunic and frowning at the flowers in front of him.

"Have you run into the delegation from Dol Amroth yet?" Legolas asked, knitting his brow.

Gúthwyn shook her head. "Thankfully, no," she answered, "but it is only a matter of time."

"I am certain that Imrahil will be keeping a much closer eye on his traveling companions this time around," Legolas predicted, smiling sympathetically at her.

"At the very least, I will not have to deal with Amrothos," Gúthwyn pointed out, folding her arms protectively around her stomach.

Legolas nodded understandingly. Even though she had only told him about part of Amrothos's assault—the fact that she had been kissed against her will—he had borne witness to the rest of the prince's untoward behavior, and more than once he had intervened on her behalf and taken her out of harm's way. He was the only person during that whole awful visit with whom she had been able to speak freely, and she would always be grateful for his kindness in those days.

"Have you informed Aragorn of what happened?" Legolas queried then, breaking the silence that had fallen between them.

Gúthwyn looked at him in astonishment. "N-No," she replied, cringing at the mere suggestion. "Why would I?"

"He might be able to help," Legolas said gently. "I know Amrothos is not here tonight, but that does not mean he will never visit Minas Tirith again. When he does, and if you have the misfortune of being in this city at the same time, Aragorn will ensure that you are kept safe from him."

Gúthwyn rapidly shook her head. "No. I-I cannot."

"Why not?" Legolas asked, though not belligerently.

"Because!" Gúthwyn cried, gripping the banister so tightly that her hands began to cramp. More quietly, for a couple of nearby Gondorians were looking around for the source of the disturbance, she added, "I-It is humiliating a-and I do not want to discuss it with him!"

"You should not be ashamed of something you had no control over," Legolas said softly, his features lined with sadness.

"Well, I _am,_" Gúthwyn ground out—though she was not angry at Legolas, for he spoke of reason. Instead she was frustrated with herself for not being convinced, for continuing to believe that she deserved to bear the cost of what Amrothos had done to her. She hated the fact that she was still so affected by the incident, that she could not simply come to terms with it and move on. "And that is something else I have no control over," she finished, her words barely above a whisper.

"I am sorry," Legolas murmured, bowing his head. "It was not my place."

"Nay, do not be," Gúthwyn responded, shrugging aside his apology. Feeling stifled, she added, "I-I am going to join Éowyn and Faramir now."

She drew back from the railing, so eager to get away from the topic of Amrothos that she was ready to sacrifice herself to the denizens of Gondorian nobility. She took a few hurried steps in the direction of the staircase—but then she paused, swallowed, and turned around again to face Legolas. He had remained in place, believing that she was angry with him.

"Will you come with me?" she asked hesitantly, unsure of how else to make amends.

"Do you want me to?" Legolas inquired, surprised.

Gúthwyn nodded mutely. Carefully he approached her, and cautiously he held out his arm. She accepted, unable to deny that it was a relief to have a way of steadying herself in case she tripped down the stairs.

She relayed this concern to Legolas as they walked to the top of the stairs, eliciting a chuckle in response. "That is one worry I am grateful not to have," he said, glancing down at his tunic and leggings. Gúthwyn followed his gaze, noticing that it had been many years since she had seen him in such formalwear. He, too, was clothed in white—but, unlike her, the color suited him. She was rather astonished by how handsome he seemed.

An instant later, her senses abruptly returned. _I must be the biggest fool on Middle-earth,_ she chastised herself, mortified that she was having such thoughts—no matter how brief or unwanted.

Needing something, anything, to cover up how embarrassed she felt, she said the first thing that came to mind: "This gown was a poor choice for the evening, I fear." Her lingering insecurities promptly welled back up to the surface—what had she been thinking, to let herself be persuaded by Éowyn's argument? Of course she was not pure.

"Nay," Legolas countered swiftly. Looking straight into her eyes, he told her, "You look beautiful."

Gúthwyn felt her cheeks heating up under his gaze. Though she did not doubt that he had spoken out of politeness, rather than sincerity, she could not remember the last time a male—besides Éomer or Tun, that is—had given her so direct a compliment. "Th-Thank you," she stammered, suddenly overly conscious of their entwined arms. Why had he said that to her? Did he, along with Éowyn and Haiweth, like the color on her? What would his reaction have been if he knew the truth?

Legolas smiled, though she was unable to discern the rest of his expression. "Shall we?" he questioned, gesturing towards the ballroom below.

"Y-Yes, of course," Gúthwyn hastened to acquiesce, swallowing when she realized that several people nearby were already watching them.

Something occurred to her then. As they began to descend the stairs, she asked, "Where are your friends?"

"They will be arriving shortly," Legolas informed her. "I expect Raniean will delay as long as is acceptable," he remarked with a sigh.

Gúthwyn bit her lip, not wanting to say anything that might come across as a slight. Indeed, she found it hard to concentrate on intelligent conversation in her current situation. Her grip on Legolas increasingly tightened as they went lower and lower, such was her discomfort with what she felt to be every Gondorian in the room staring at her. She imagined that they were all waiting for her to trip and fall, or to do something equally scandalous; then they could devour her and spit her back out.

"Are you all right?" Legolas asked once they finally reached the bottom of the stairs, once they were no longer on display.

"Sorry," Gúthwyn apologized, blushing as she loosened her hold on his arm. "I-I am just a little nervous…"

"You will be fine," Legolas said reassuringly, guiding her through the crowd. The Gondorians parted respectfully for the Elven prince, yet Gúthwyn could still feel the weight of their gazes upon her.

"Is it true that the children with Prince Faramir are hers?" she heard someone murmur to their neighbor.

"Who do you think the father is?" asked another.

"There was a young man who was in their party earlier—I remember seeing him with her after the War," theorized a third.

Gúthwyn flinched as each rumor about her past was resurrected in an instant, spreading like wildfire through the crowd. Beside her, Legolas's mouth was a thin line of disgust. She drew closer to him, though ordinarily she would not have: he was her only ally in a sea of enemies, the only person in sight who did not believe the gossip. He responded by quickening their pace, so that she would not have to endure for so long.

It seemed to take forever to reach the high table. By the time they did, Gúthwyn was more than ready to turn right around and head back to her lodgings. She and Legolas separated as they approached the others; she felt surprisingly vulnerable without him at her side, but ordered herself to remain calm.

After she greeted Aragorn and Arwen, she sat down next to Éowyn and was immediately interrogated. "Are you feeling well?" the White Lady inquired concernedly, addressing her in quiet Rohirric.

"They are already talking about me," Gúthwyn replied sadly, her voice low so that Aragorn—who was conversing with Legolas—would not overhear them. "They were whispering about Hammel and Haiweth." The children, she noticed, had been seated at the far end of the table amongst their peers; the sons and daughters of nobility, she presumed. Haiweth looked delighted by this turn of events, and was already chattering happily away with a girl at her side.

"Pay them no heed, baby sister," Éowyn advised, gently placing a hand on Gúthwyn's shoulder. "They are not worth your time."

_How easy it is for you to say that,_ Gúthwyn could not help but think. She stifled the retort, however, and shrugged. Mercifully, Éowyn's attention was soon diverted to Faramir, who had leaned over to remark something about the splendid interior of the ballroom. While the White Lady was distracted, Gúthwyn looked around the table to see who her dining companions for the evening would be.

At the head of the table were, of course, Aragorn and Arwen. On Aragorn's right was Faramir; on Arwen's left, Legolas. The seats on the other side of Legolas—and thus directly across from Éowyn and Gúthwyn—were currently unoccupied. Gúthwyn assumed they were reserved for Prince Imrahil and other sundry Gondorian rulers. She had not yet met the lords of Lossarnach, Lebennin, and Lamedon, but at least Prince Imrahil would be kind to her. She hoped.

Unfortunately, she did not recognize anyone else even remotely near her. Cobryn was almost as far away as the children, placed amongst older men who were probably advisors of some sort. He tried to catch her eye when she glanced over at him, but she quickly looked away and gazed down at her lap. Sighing, she took stock of her options: she would be able to carry on individual conversations with Éowyn, and perhaps Prince Imrahil. In all likelihood, she would also have to make polite discourse with whichever lord wound up sitting in front of her, something she was not anticipating in the least. _Chances are, I will say something to humiliate myself,_ she predicted gloomily.

Around her, the din in the ballroom grew louder as more and more guests continued to arrive. Gúthwyn was relieved to note that not all of them were lords or ladies: some appeared to be merchants and shop owners, thus placing them comfortably in the middle class. Nestadan, Nanaendis, Galanhîr, and Gilwen made their entrance nearly half an hour later—delayed, she suspected, by Galanhîr's evident refusal to wear anything that coordinated. The boy had stubbornly mismatched a dark brown tunic with grey leggings and black boots, a stark contrast to his younger sister's pretty green gown.

After an amusing stint of people-watching, she reluctantly turned back to the table and hoped it was not remiss of her to be ignoring the others for so long. Luckily, the seats across from her still had not been filled; meanwhile, the rest of the group was discussing how Arwen had managed to obtain all the decorations for the hall.

"It was simply a matter of hiring the best gardeners," the queen demurred, bowing her head modestly. "Though I daresay Samwise Gamgee would have a thing or two to teach them," she added fondly.

Gúthwyn started, for it had been months since the Hobbit had crossed her mind. The last she had heard of him was in a letter from Merry to Éomer, informing them that Sam's third child with Rosie Cotton had just been born. If she recalled correctly, the eldest was Elanor; then there was Frodo, and finally Rose. She was glad for him: given everything that he had done for Frodo Baggins in the War of the Ring, he certainly deserved all the good fortune that had been bestowed upon him.

"It seems as if you have run them all completely out of flowers!" Faramir marveled, twisting his head around to count the innumerable displays. "Are there any plants left in the whole of the city?"

Arwen laughed—a light, tinkling laugh that was undoubtedly the mark of a proper lady. Gúthwyn's own laugh was far less restrained, something she would have to pay attention to this evening lest she seem uncouth to her neighbors. "Nonsense, dear Faramir, I was careful not to deprive Minas Tirith of all its blossoms. I—"

Gúthwyn had to lean forward to hear the rest of her response, for there was a sudden upswing in the noise level of the ballroom. Aragorn, Arwen, and Legolas noticed it as well—their eyes quickly darted to the top of the staircase, where (judging by the whispers that Éomund's youngest daughter could now hear all around her) a large party of important individuals had undoubtedly just emerged.

_Prince Imrahil,_ she realized. She, Éowyn, and Faramir swiveled around in unison, just in time to see the prince of Dol Amroth appear with a gaunt attendant at his side. Gúthwyn's eyes widened: Imrahil had aged a great deal since his visit to Rohan. She was stunned by the lines on his features and the tired slump of his shoulders—changes that seemed not to have come with years, but with misfortune and grief.

The mutterings continued, causing her to bristle. It was quite rude of the Gondorians to discuss one of their own princes so openly, she thought. Yes, Imrahil looked far from his usual composed self; and, yes, his clothes suggested that he had not put much consideration into what he was wearing that evening; but that was no reason for the citizens of Minas Tirith to be staring and gossiping so blatantly.

Gúthwyn's sympathy for Imrahil increased when she realized that he was clutching the arm of his scrawny attendant, as if using the younger man for balance. _I hope he is not sick,_ she thought in alarm. _I wonder what has happened?_

"Gúthwyn," Éowyn said suddenly, her voice unusually high.

Éomund's youngest daughter yanked her eyes away from Prince Imrahil and half-turned towards her sister. She blinked rapidly when she saw that Éowyn's face was completely ashen, her mouth forming an "o" of shock.

"What?" she asked, glancing back at Prince Imrahil. She had to admit, she was surprised by Éowyn's reaction. Even though not at his best, Imrahil was hardly on death's door—his condition did not look so grave as to evoke Éowyn's stunned expression. At the very least, Imrahil had a servant to care for him.

Though, if truth be told, the servant did not seem in particularly good health, either. He was rail-thin, his clothes hanging off his body as if he had lost weight too quickly for them to be adjusted properly. Confused, Gúthwyn looked once at Imrahil, then back at the attendant. _No,_ she thought, horrified. _No, no, no, no, no…_

Almost immediately, the Gondorians' less than courteous welcome was explained. Speculation was running rampant, flowing around her like a raging river; it all faded into the background as she gasped, as the blood drained out of her cheeks until she was paler than the ghost that had just come back to haunt her.

The man at Imrahil's side was none other than Prince Amrothos.


	63. The Never Ending Dinner

**Chapter Sixty-Three**

Gúthwyn blanched as Imrahil and Amrothos began descending the stairs, Imrahil holding his head high against the shocked whispers racing like lightning through the hall. It was now evident that he was not leaning on Amrothos; rather, it was the other way around.

"Gúthwyn," Éowyn spoke again, alarmed.

"What is he doing here?" Éomund's youngest daughter whispered frantically, reverting to Rohirric as she often did with her sister. "Faramir said that it would only be Imrahil!"

"There must have been a last-minute change," Éowyn fretted, reaching over and placing a steadying hand on Gúthwyn's shoulder. "Are you all right? Do you want to leave?"

Every fiber of Gúthwyn's being yearned to reply that _yes_, she _needed_ to leave; that the mere thought of being in the same room as the man who might have been her rapist was sickening; that with each step Amrothos took, bringing him closer and closer to her, she could feel the memories start to resurface. One look in Aragorn and Arwen's direction, however, and she knew that she could not possibly depart. If she were seen leaving the ballroom right after Imrahil and Amrothos's appearance, it would be construed as a deliberate snub—or, worse, produce speculation about her failed betrothal to Elphir. Gúthwyn had no inkling of what the Gondorians knew about that particular chapter of her past, but she was willing to bet that they had at least heard the rumors of a scandal.

She could not afford to encourage them. Above all, she did _not_ want anyone to find out what had happened in the stables. "I-I will stay," she told Éowyn, though she was digging her own grave—though she felt faint with terror as Imrahil and Amrothos began wending their way through the crowd.

Quickly, she swiveled around and stared fixedly at her plate. She could not bear to watch the rest of Amrothos's approach. Yet, even with her back turned to him, every part of her body was painfully aware of his presence: each muscle was taut with anxiety, her spine rippling unpleasantly. She was shaking.

She imagined that she could hear his footsteps drawing closer, that his heavy breathing was reverberating in her ears as if they were in the stables once more. Her throat dry, she struggled against the onslaught of memories: his tongue imprisoning her own so that she could not breathe; his hands, one keeping her in place and the other destroying her; his drunken mutterings.

When she happened to glance up, eyes wide and chest heaving, Éowyn and Faramir were observing her worriedly. Nor were they alone—Legolas's gaze was fixed on her, his concern palpable. Yet Aragorn and Arwen, having a quiet discussion in Elvish, had not noticed her distress. Gúthwyn ducked her head in embarrassment, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes as she sought to avoid the others' looks.

In what seemed like no time at all, the sound of Amrothos's footsteps was no longer a conjectured terror. It was real, and directly behind her—accompanied by Imrahil's, yet completely distinct. Gúthwyn shrank even further into her chair as Aragorn and Arwen rose to greet the newcomers. After a short hesitation, Legolas and Faramir stood as well; the latter had to turn around in order to see his relatives.

Éowyn, however, remained in her seat.

"Prince Imrahil, Prince Amrothos, welcome," Aragorn said cheerfully, though a hint of curiosity wormed its way into his words. "I hope your journey was safe?"

"Yes, thank you," Imrahil replied, somewhere behind Gúthwyn's shoulder. She cringed, hoping that neither he nor Amrothos had espied her yet. "Queen Arwen, as always it is a pleasure."

"You are too kind," Arwen told him, smiling.

Unable to bear the pleasantries that seemed to be mocking her, Gúthwyn reached over and took her sister's hand. Éowyn said not a word as her fingers were nearly crushed.

Faramir was next to relay his greetings. Gúthwyn did not dare to try for more than a glimpse of his profile, but she saw him shift uncomfortably before stepping out of her field of vision and, presumably, embracing Imrahil. "It is good to see you, uncle," he murmured.

Gúthwyn did not hear Imrahil's answer; but when they separated and Faramir reappeared in the corner of her eye, the Steward said stiffly, "Cousin."

She froze, but Amrothos gave no verbal response. By now, Aragorn's brow was furrowed.

"My friend, welcome." Legolas's greeting to Prince Imrahil was quite courteous, but Gúthwyn marked a glimmer of hatred in his eyes as they flickered over to where Amrothos must have been standing. Unlike Faramir, he did not address the younger man—instead he coolly, pointedly, sat back down. Gúthwyn momentarily felt her spirits lift: he was, in his own way, defending her.

Aragorn's eyes narrowed.

"Did you find your lodgings suitable?" Arwen inquired, smoothing over the awkward moment.

"They are perfect!" Imrahil was all too willing to play along. "We have been quite spoiled," he added, beginning to walk around the table, "by your generosity."

Gúthwyn thought her heart would fail her when the ruler of Dol Amroth appeared in front of her, followed by a familiar cloak. She managed to avert her eyes to her lap before she had to endure the sight of Amrothos's features, but it was not enough. His pale hand, clutching at the fabric of his outerwear as if it were a lifeline, was in plain view—and she could see all of the rings that had once dug into her stomach. She pressed her lips together, afraid she would be sick in the middle of the ballroom.

Imrahil did not realize that she was there until he was pulling out the chair across from Éowyn. Gúthwyn heard, rather than saw, his dismay: there was an abrupt halt in the seat's movement, and a long silence before Imrahil's voice, unusually shaky, asked, "Lady Gúthwyn?"

Outright quivering, Gúthwyn slowly raised her head to meet the prince's horrified gaze. "M-My lord," she whispered, trying to focus on him and avoid looking at Amrothos. Unfortunately, it was a losing battle. The harder she concentrated on _not_ glancing at him, the more she was compelled to. As much as she struggled to resist, she was powerless to stop her gaze from sliding over to her tormenter. What she saw was staggering.

During his visit to Rohan, Amrothos had been the pinnacle of health. He had had a drinking problem, yes, but the signs of that had not touched his robust appearance. He had been muscular, handsome; he had had snappy retorts, energy, and purpose. Now, he was practically unrecognizable. He had lost so much weight that his bones were straining against his pale skin and his clothes no longer fit him properly. There were bags under his sunken eyes, which held such a wild look of desperation—for what?—that she could scarcely bear to behold them.

He saw her gaping at him. "Gúthwyn," he croaked through dry, cracked lips.

Éomund's daughter flinched at the sound of his voice, which was hoarse and rasping—yet still very reminiscent of the one that had hissed at her in the stables.

Imrahil shot Amrothos a cold, silencing stare; then he turned his troubled gaze back to Gúthwyn. "I-I was not aware that you would be here," he said, offering both an explanation and an apology.

Gúthwyn did not respond, so flustered was she by the fact that Amrothos had had the nerve to speak to her. Mercifully, Éowyn came to her rescue, addressing Imrahil so that she did not have to. "Gúthwyn is residing with us in Emyn Arnen for the time being. We are glad for her company," she said, smiling comfortingly at Gúthwyn. Éomund's youngest daughter could not return the gesture.

Highly discomfited, Imrahil murmured, "That is good to hear." At last, mindful that their exchange was taking place under the scrutiny of everyone at the table, he reluctantly pulled his chair out the rest of the way. "Amrothos, sit," he grimly bade his son.

As Gúthwyn watched in horror, Amrothos lowered himself into the seat directly across from her. "Hello," he muttered gruffly.

Gúthwyn's stomach turned over. She pressed herself as far back into her chair as she could, shivering in fear. What if, tonight, he tried to hurt her again? What if he pursued her, dragged her out of the ballroom, and had his way with her? She did not detect the tell-tale smell of alcohol on his breath, but the night was young and he would have ample opportunity to imbibe. _Please, no,_ she prayed, shaking.

And what about for the rest of the week? How long would Amrothos remain in Minas Tirith? _I have to get out of here,_ she thought, her eyes widening at the horrifying prospect of running into him again. She could not allow that to happen. Her decision was made in an instant: the second she had a moment of privacy with Éowyn, she would arrange to return to Ithilien the very next day. Even if it meant staying in Emyn Arnen alone for awhile, she could not bear the possibility of Amrothos dogging her every step.

"Imrahil, how fare things in Dol Amroth?" Arwen inquired just then, tactfully breaking the silence and drawing the conversation in a safe direction.

Imrahil gave a response, and gradually the rest of the table began to discuss the topic Arwen had kindly provided. Gúthwyn, however, remained silent. She did not trust herself to speak without throwing up. The heat of Amrothos's gaze was suffocating her, despite her best attempts to ignore it.

When she glanced down the table at Cobryn, her friend was staring at Amrothos in a mixture of shock and fury. Even from this distance, she could tell that his fists were clenched at his side. When their eyes met, he mouthed, _Are you all right?_

Gúthwyn shook her head, trembling.

_Do you want to leave?_

Again, she shook her head.

_Be careful,_ he warned, troubled.

Gúthwyn nodded, nervously twisting her hands together. A second later, however, they were forced to abandon their communication: one of the advisors next to Cobryn had asked him a question.

"He must hate me."

Against her will, Gúthwyn looked up. Amrothos was watching Cobryn with an odd expression on his face, one that she could not understand and did not dare to decipher. When he turned his gaze back on her, she cringed and avoided his dark eyes. _Please, make him stop,_ she begged the Valar, though she hardly expected them to listen when they so rarely did. It was becoming increasingly difficult to breathe.

An instant later, Éowyn came to her rescue. "Baby sister," she said, glaring so fiercely at Amrothos that Gúthwyn would not have been surprised if the prince had keeled over on the spot. "We should take some time tomorrow to walk around the city. You will see that many things have changed since the War."

Gúthwyn nodded obediently, still unable to speak.

"We can go to the first level and stroll through the marketplace," Éowyn continued, bent on keeping the conversation afloat so that Amrothos would not have the chance to interrupt, "and then we can…"

Thus she went on, producing a steady flow of words to which Gúthwyn only needed to respond with a forced smile and an occasional nod. By the time the White Lady finished detailing everything that the two of them would do tomorrow—unaware, Gúthwyn thought guiltily, that the younger woman was planning on departing the next morning—the ballroom was filled to capacity and the servants were bringing out the first dishes.

Goblets for wine and mead were also set before each diner, with servers coming by shortly thereafter to pour the drinks. Gúthwyn tried to decline, but she spoke so quietly that the man did not hear her and filled her cup anyway. As she peered tentatively into the liquid's swirling red depths, she saw Imrahil discreetly place his hand over Amrothos's glass. The young servant behind him paused, then moved onto the next guest. Amrothos's goblet was left empty.

Gúthwyn was quite relieved by this turn of events, yet she was troubled by Amrothos's reaction. His hand was trembling, his fingers tightly grasping the stem of the glass. His eyes were at once flashing with fury and shadowed with helplessness; every muscle in his jaw was clenched, and for the first time since his arrival he barely seemed to notice Éomund's daughter.

_What is wrong with him?_ Gúthwyn wondered, knitting her brow. This was more than anger over Imrahil preventing him from drinking—there was something else going on, something that was causing him to behave so strangely.

Her speculation was interrupted when Imrahil caught her curious stare. She flushed, not wanting the ruler of Dol Amroth to think that she was being nosy, and began looking around for something to pretend to eat.

The combination of so many aromas, many of which were from meat dishes, made her even queasier than she already was. Though she politely loaded some stew onto her plate, she knew she would not be able to stomach more than a mouthful. How could she, when her mind was under siege by recollections of Amrothos's tongue jamming itself down her throat? How could she, when she could feel his cold hand upon her breast as if it were yesterday?

"You still do not eat meat, I see," Amrothos remarked quietly, whilst Éowyn was busy handing a platter to Faramir and Imrahil was occupied with his own meal.

Gúthwyn had to bite the insides of her cheeks to keep from bursting into tears. Even though Imrahil overheard Amrothos's remark and, gripping him by the arm, began to reprimand him in a fierce murmur, the damage could not be undone. That Amrothos could speak so casually to her, blatantly trivializing the molestation he had subjected her to, was nauseating. How was this fair? Why were the Valar doing this to her? How could he remain so blithely unaffected, go completely unpunished, while she had to endure the humiliation and terror all over again?

From there on, things only got worse. Aragorn and Arwen led the conversation at the table, limiting the topics to such "safe" issues as the fortunes of each realm and the rebuilding of Osgiliath. The king and queen were clearly aware that something was amiss, however, and, though they were discreet enough to not demand an explanation, the air remained thick with tension. Gúthwyn soon realized that Arwen, at least, had pinpointed the source of the disturbance. More than once she saw the queen observing her pityingly, and she had a feeling that the Elf was not blind to the fact that she was merely pushing her food around on the plate.

_I do not want your sympathy,_ Gúthwyn thought angrily, bitter towards Arwen's position. _All I want right now is to leave your city and never come back._

Amrothos did not attempt to speak to her again, but under his interminable stare the edges of Gúthwyn's composure slowly began to fray. Before long, she gave up feigning interest in her meal and simply sat there, clenching her fists and struggling to maintain control of herself. Until dinner was over and the dancing commenced, she could not leave without causing a serious breach of etiquette; she persevered only by telling herself that if she could just wait until then, she would have her freedom. Although she would not be able to abandon the ball entirely, since her absence would not go unnoticed, at the very least she could slip out for awhile under the excuse of needing fresh air.

Until then, however, she was trapped in a crowded room whose walls felt like they were closing in on her. No matter where she looked, there was a flash of dark hair in front of her; she could no more escape Amrothos's presence than she could turn back time and undo the moment in which she had surrendered control of her body to him. She found that she could not stop shivering, warm though the ballroom was. Nor could she seem to get her breathing right.

Certainly the others had detected her anxiety, had observed that something was wrong with her—but no one said anything, so determined were they to present a façade of normalcy and avoid a scandal. Part of her bristled at this: if Éowyn, Faramir, and Imrahil all knew what Amrothos had done to her, why were none of them standing up for her? Why had none of them informed Amrothos that he was not welcome, social niceties be damned, instead of becoming bystanders as the man who had almost raped her was allowed to sit right across from her?

She could hardly blame them, though. It would not be fair to ruin the ball Aragorn and Arwen had put so much preparation into, especially since Amrothos's attack had been interrupted before it could go any further. There was also the matter of Imrahil's last-minute arrival to consider—for had he, Éowyn, and Faramir realized that she and Amrothos were both in the city, she was certain that arrangements would have been made to prevent them from running into each other. Imrahil had not even known that she had left Rohan; how could he have anticipated this turn of events?

She was somewhat assuaged when she glanced over at Legolas, who seemed nearly as uncomfortable as she felt—and torn between scrutinizing her concernedly and staring at Amrothos in disgust. He was engaging in conversation with Aragorn and Arwen only so much as to be polite, no more; he appeared too agitated to commit to the general discussion any further.

He saw her watching him, and their eyes locked. Gúthwyn hardly knew how to describe the look that passed between them—for he did not mouth words as Cobryn had done, but she had the strangest sense that he was assuring her of his protection… _Nay,_ she thought, checking herself in embarrassment. It was most conceited of her to presume such a thing, friend though she might consider Legolas. More likely, he pitied her.

The meal dragged on. She was not the only one whose plate remained untouched: Amrothos initially attempted to consume some sort of meat, but his hands were trembling so much that he was incapable of operating the necessary utensils properly. Eventually he gave up, setting down his fork and knife with a louder _clang_, she thought, than he realized.

She briefly returned to the question of what was ailing him—for while she certainly felt no sympathy for him, it was disconcerting to witness his bizarre behavior. Unfortunately, this contemplation brought to mind all the other ways in which he had acted with no regard to propriety. The times he had openly stared at her, unashamedly examining her body; the taunts and cruel jibes he had thrown at her, ignoring her cringes; the pleasure he had taken in touching her and seeing her reaction.

Gúthwyn found herself in the stables once more, whimpering, too petrified to resist and too caught up in the memories of Haldor to even protest. Again and again she relived the assault, feeling the wooden door jammed against her back and hearing her cries, increasingly quieter until finally no sound came out at all, as she was violated in a way that she had not been since Mordor. She grew more nauseated by the second, several times coming close to retching into her untouched stew. _Just a little longer,_ she told herself, cringing against the horrible recollections. _Just hold on, and then you will be able to leave…_

It seemed to take forever and a day for the servants to retrieve their plates, and even then there was a lull before the musicians appeared. No one seemed to mind the delay, for the ballroom was throbbing with conversation, but Gúthwyn was sweating and anxiously digging her nails into her thighs. More troubled looks were thrown in her direction, yet no one dared to address her for fear of bringing additional attention to the oliphaunt in the room.

At last, at long last, the musicians struck up a lively tune and Aragorn and Arwen rose to lead the dancing. A loud rumbling was heard as scores of guests pushed back their chairs to join the king and queen, laughing merrily as they chose their partners. In the chaos that followed, Gúthwyn bolted out of her seat and all but ran towards the nearest side door, ignoring her sister when the White Lady called her name. For a horrifying moment, she saw Amrothos stand as if to pursue her; but then, almost before had detected the threat, Imrahil grabbed his arm and brought him to a halt. Silently thanking the ruler, Gúthwyn pushed through the crowd and did not look back until she had reached the door.

Emerging outside, she found herself in a small, enclosed garden. Though it was winter and most of the blossoms had retreated into their stems, there were still plenty of shrubs and small trees holding their own against the cold. Shivering in the frigid air, Gúthwyn sank down onto a nearby bench and, almost immediately, leaped up again in agitation. Wrapping her arms around her chest, she paced to and fro whilst ordering herself not to cry.

"Why is this happening to me?" she demanded in a whisper, the words wobbling as her lips quivered. "Why did he have to come here?"

Her anger towards Imrahil grew, however unwarranted it was: why had the ruler brought his lecherous son to a ball, when it had been proven that Amrothos had no qualms about raping a woman? What had Imrahil been thinking? It was not fair that she should have to sit meekly by and endure Amrothos's presence, all so that a stupid ball could go uninterrupted and without scandal.

Behind her, the door slowly opened. Gúthwyn whirled around, for a terrifying moment believing that Amrothos had given his father the slip and come after her—yet, to her immense relief, her visitor turned out to be Legolas.

"B-Bored already?" she inquired valiantly, though she knew her casual words would not fool him.

"I wanted to make sure that you were all right," Legolas replied earnestly, stepping out into the garden and looking closely at her.

Gúthwyn winced, shrugging. "I have been better," she said shortly, afraid that if she continued she would burst into tears.

"This will likely be no more than a small comfort, but Faramir and your sister are planning to inform Aragorn of the situation once he finishes dancing with Arwen," Legolas told her somberly.

"The damage has already been done, has it not?" Gúthwyn asked, her voice rising. "I-I just had to… to _eat dinner_ with the man w-who…" She trailed off, choking on her frustration and misery.

Legolas drew nearer, moving slowly—as if he did not want to run the risk of startling her. "You looked terrified throughout the ordeal," he remarked, though not unkindly.

"I-I just k-k-kept _picturing_ him," Gúthwyn said, trembling, "k-kissing me in th-the stables and… and…" She stopped, preventing herself from revealing more than she should to Legolas, and attempted to regain her composure.

For a time, as she wiped vainly at her eyes, the silence was only broken by her uneven breathing. At length, however, Legolas cleared his throat. "Gúthwyn, there is something I must tell you," he began, looking so uneasy that Éomund's daughter instinctively dreaded whatever it was that he was about to say. "I cannot continue to listen to you in good conscience without doing so."

Gúthwyn stared at him quizzically, having not the faintest idea what he was talking about. With a sigh, Legolas declared, "I know… I know the rest of what Amrothos did to you."

The instant the meaning of Legolas's words sunk in, Gúthwyn gasped and scrambled away from him. "W-What are you talking about?" she demanded anxiously, her voice high-pitched and verging on the hysterical. "H-How?"

"I overheard your siblings discussing the assault," Legolas answered, his gaze clouded with sorrow. He remained where he stood, not attempting to follow her. "They thought I was far enough away for their conversation to be safe, but they forgot to take into account that I was not of their race."

"W-When was this?" Gúthwyn asked, gaping at him in horror. "H-How long have you known?"

"Since the summer after the visit from Dol Amroth, when your sister and I both came to Rohan," Legolas explained gently. "Elfwine was showing me his wooden horses in the throne room when Éowyn began interrogating Éomer about what Amrothos had done to you."

_By the Valar,_ Gúthwyn thought, lifting her trembling hands to her mouth. She vaguely remembered seeing her nephew engaging in mock battle with Legolas, but she had detected nothing amiss when she came over to collect Elfwine. _All this time, and he never told me…_ Mortified, she took another step back.

"I am sorry," Legolas fervently apologized, seeing her betrayed expression. "I did not want to say anything, for fear that I would recall unpleasant memories, but it would be disingenuous of me to remain silent any further. I hope…" His voice softened, filled with remorse. "I hope that I am not causing you pain."

Gúthwyn tried to respond, but the words stuck in her throat and would not come. He knew that Amrothos had touched her; he knew that she had been violated. She hated the thought of him being privy to this information, of him being let in on something she wanted to bury in the past.

Before she could bring herself to answer, the door to the ballroom opened again. A shadowy figured emerged outside, revealed an instant later to be Cobryn.

"Gúthwyn?" he asked, his gaze fixed on her.

The sight of her friend, after everything that had happened tonight, was too much. Gúthwyn felt her face crumple, heralding the onslaught of tears she had struggled to hold back in front of Legolas. Forgetting that she was angry with Cobryn, in fact forgetting that they had ever had any disagreements at all, she took a couple of hesitant steps towards him and then all but flung herself into his waiting arms.

Cobryn held her tightly as she wept, murmuring calmly to her in Rohirric. "I can bring you back to the Steward's House," he said, "propriety be damned. We can go right now."

She almost took him up on his offer then and there. It was tempting to the point that she opened her mouth, ready to agree—but instead, she found herself demanding, "Why d-did he have to c-come here? Why did he h-h-have to ruin everything?"

"Imrahil was unaware of your presence in Minas Tirith," Cobryn reminded her somberly. "He was just as shocked as you."

"That does not matter!" Gúthwyn protested, her hands curling into fists even as she clung to Cobryn. "H-He should not have brought him _anywhere_! A-Amrothos would have r-_raped_ me if Elphir and Lothíriel had not w-walked in on us, so _why_ w-would Imrahil b-b-bring him to a ball f-full of women?"

"Amrothos only targeted you because of Elphir," Cobryn pointed out, his grip on her now so tight that it was borderline painful. "As far as we know, he has not done this to other women."

Cobryn's logic was sound, yet a surge of frustration was flowing through Éomund's daughter and she could not quell it. "Why did he have to pick me?" she demanded, pounding vainly at her friend's chest in a helpless fury. "Why is it _always_ me?"

"Please, let me take you back to the Steward's House," Cobryn urged her, stoically enduring her thrashing. "There is no need to subject yourself to this."

Gúthwyn frantically shook her head. "If I leave now," she answered, "e-everyone will talk… a-and I cannot risk them f-finding out w-what he did to me…"

"Then, at the very least, you should not return to the high table—not until he has gone off to find a drink, at any rate," Cobryn advised her. "Imrahil will understand your absence. Stay with me, and we can watch Haiweth to make sure that she is not getting into trouble."

Gúthwyn blinked: she had completely forgotten about the potential danger that Haiweth was in. It was a testament to how desperate Cobryn was to keep her out of trouble that he was willing to encourage her in monitoring Haiweth's first foray into Gondorian society. Stiffening her resolve, she pulled back and nodded in agreement. After all, she did need to keep an eye on Haiweth.

"Would you like to remain out here awhile longer, or do you want to go inside?" Cobryn inquired gently.

As much as Gúthwyn would have preferred the former, because willingly venturing into the same room as Amrothos was akin to knowingly entering a wild animal's lair, she shook her head and replied, "We… We can go back inside." _You cannot let your discomfort prevent you from watching over Haiweth,_ she told herself. If Haiweth fell into the same situation that Amrothos had put Éomund's daughter through, all because she had not been under proper supervision, Gúthwyn would never forgive herself.

When she and Cobryn separated, she looked around and was surprised to realize that they were the only ones in the garden. "W-Where did Legolas go?" she inquired hesitantly.

"He went back inside," Cobryn informed her. "He became uneasy when you started crying; I believe he thought that you would not want him to be present."

Gúthwyn swallowed. "He knows what Amrothos did to me," she admitted, flinching. "He… He overheard Éowyn and Éomer talking about it once."

Cobryn's eyes narrowed. "Are you all right?"

"I…" Gúthwyn shrugged, uneasily. "I wish he had not found out," she said quietly; "but he has kept it a secret thus far, and I trust that he will continue to do so."

"He seems to be protective of you," Cobryn ventured.

Gúthwyn glanced up at him in confusion. "Protective?" she repeated, puzzling over the word choice. She supposed it made sense, given the context, but it was more intimate a term than she had expected Cobryn to use.

"Aye," Cobryn confirmed, looking pensive.

Gúthwyn did not respond, though she decided that she did not mind if it were as Cobryn had said—if, indeed, Legolas were being protective of her. Not tonight, anyway, when Amrothos was on the loose and could very well try to hurt her again. Imrahil's son had overpowered her too often for her to be certain of being able to evade him by herself; she was in no position to object to Legolas's help.

Besides, she thought, there was nothing wrong with Legolas watching over her. It was no different from what Cobryn or Éomer did, and she had no qualms with their looking out for her. If she were perfectly honest with herself, in fact, Cobryn's remark—assuming it were true, of course—made her feel a little safer after everything that had transpired tonight.

She did not, however, want to consider the other implications Cobryn's statement might have.


	64. Run Ins and Rumors

**A/N:** I'm sorry for the delay in posting! For some reason everyone and their mother decided to make plans with me over the past couple of weeks, and what with gymnastics and work thrown into the mix it's been a hectic month. I'm also sorry for completely failing to respond to reviews, which I don't have an excuse for. I'm going to get started on that ASAP, and I apologize in advance if anyone winds up getting a second reply! I really need to find a better way of keeping track of these things...

Meanwhile, for those of you in the US, some movie theaters have been showing the extended editions this month. I'm not sure how many are doing it throughout the country, but several near me are participating. They've already screened The Fellowship of the Ring and The Two Towers; The Return of the King is showing next Tuesday at 7:00. Each of the movies is prefaced with an introduction from Peter Jackson (on the set of The Hobbit, no less!). I hadn't seen The Fellowship of the Ring in theaters at all - true story, my obsession with The Lord of the Rings started in 2002 after a friend of mine showed me a bookmark of Legolas and I thought he was really hot; yes, I'm being completely serious - and it was wonderful to have the opportunity to do so. The tickets are on the expensive side, $12.50, but if you can afford it I would highly recommend catching The Return of the King next week!

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><p><strong>Chapter Sixty-Four<strong>

Gúthwyn was about to enter the ballroom when Cobryn stopped her, holding out a hand to halt her progress. "It would be best if we were not seen returning at the same time," he cautioned sagely. "I will go first, and find an unoccupied table as far away from the others as possible to sit at. Wait for five minutes, then follow me."

Gúthwyn nodded in agreement, relieved to have an excuse to delay immersing herself in the festivities. Cobryn inclined his head before opening the door a crack and sliding into the ballroom, leaving her alone outside. Shivering now that she no longer had her friend's warmth to rely on, she sat down on the bench and counted—anything to keep her mind off of Amrothos.

When she had reached sixty five times (although, if truth be told, she had purposefully counted slowly), Gúthwyn reluctantly rose to her feet and opened the door. Upon stepping into the ballroom, she was confronted by a wall of noise that made her cringe in discomfort. Not only was the music in full swing, but the assorted conversations added to the cacophony until her ears were positively ringing. For a moment, she contemplated turning right around and escaping back to the garden.

_Cobryn will come looking for you if you do not meet him,_ she reminded herself. Sighing, she began scanning the tables in search of her friend. Unfortunately, she was unable to espy him from her vantage point: there was a throng of waltzing nobility in front of her, blocking her view of the tables at the far end of the room. Gritting her teeth, she resigned herself to having to make her way around the dancing couples.

The best course of action, she decided, was to edge along the outer wall, and thus avoid getting caught amidst the complicated steps and twirls. As she walked, she noticed that she was passing a series of alcoves that she had previously overlooked. Arwen had filled most of them with small, decorative trees, but some had been left open for private conversations. These were still blocked from general view by a series of pillars, though not completely out of sight. Gúthwyn passed two lords who appeared to be discussing business, judging by the numbers she heard; how anyone would be so devoted to work was beyond her.

It was as she strode by the third alcove that someone grabbed her by the waist and yanked her into its darkened confines, so quickly that at first she did not even comprehend what had happened.

"We need to talk," Amrothos whispered hoarsely, his fingers digging into her stomach.

As the reality of the situation set in, as Gúthwyn found herself gazing into his sunken eyes, she shrieked in horror. Amrothos's reflexes were too quick for her, however, and he clamped his hand down on her mouth before any sound could escape from her lips. Panicking, she tried to bite him—but his grip on her jaw was so tight that her efforts were futile.

"Listen to me," Amrothos muttered urgently, drawing her further into the shadows and pushing her against the wall when she started struggling. The shove knocked the air out of her, and her whimpers grew increasingly terrified when she realized that she could no longer breathe through her mouth. "If I let go of you," Amrothos asked, "will you promise not to yell?"

Afraid that she would suffocate if she did not agree, and desperate to get away, Gúthwyn nodded.

Amrothos's eyes were twitching as he repeated, "You promise?"

Again, Gúthwyn nodded.

The instant Amrothos lowered his hand, she stomped on his foot and tried to push him away from her. Yet though he gave a muffled curse at the pain, he was not fooled by her trick: instead of falling back he lunged forward, smothering her with his body so that she did not have the chance to escape.

"Let go of me!" Gúthwyn gasped, alarmed by how dilated his pupils were. They gave an eerie, inhuman quality to his appearance that frightened her almost as much as the unspoken threat of what he might to do her.

"Not until you hear me out," he retorted, seizing her arms and pinning her to the wall.

"Let go of me, or I will scream!" Gúthwyn threatened, though her voice wavered as she spoke—and he could tell.

"You will not scream," Amrothos replied, so quietly that she could scarcely hear him. "If you valued your safety over others' comfort, I would not have been able to do to you what I did…" He trailed off; and, as his words hovered in the air, his right hand began to travel upwards. Gúthwyn flinched as it advanced slowly along her arm, then reached the exposed flesh of her neck. In vain, she tried to tilt her head away from him—but he persisted, until at last his clammy palm was cupping her pale cheek.

Gúthwyn's breath lodged somewhere in her throat as he gently stroked her, his fingers gradually working their way up to her scalp. There was still a tic in his eyelid, and even the hand that was touching her seemed to tremble. In a twisted mockery of a lover's caress—or what she had often imagined that Borogor might do to her—Amrothos smoothed a stray strand of her hair and tucked it behind her ear.

On top of everything, this perverted gesture of intimacy was too much. Gúthwyn felt a fresh wave of tears spilling down her cheeks as she choked out, "What are you doing?"

Amrothos started, as if he had just become aware of his actions, but he never had the chance to respond. Without warning, he was wrenched away from Éomund's daughter and thrust against the opposite wall of the alcove.

"You and I need to have a little chat, _cousin_," Faramir growled, looking angrier than Gúthwyn had ever seen him. Every muscle in his body was taut, his blue eyes blazing with fury as he gripped Amrothos.

"I was just—"

"You were just _what_?" Faramir spat in disgust. "Assaulting Gúthwyn again? I know you have your faults, Amrothos, but I never thought you would sink this low. You are not even acting out of some misguided sense of loyalty to Elphir—yes, I know about that" (Amrothos had blanched) "—which makes your behavior tonight almost more despicable.

"I was going to wait until Aragorn and Arwen were finished dancing to bring your past misconduct to their attention, but no more. You are coming with me, and you will inform them yourself of everything you have done—including what happened tonight. If they do not kick you out of this ball after that, I will do so myself. Do not make the mistake of thinking you can get away with terrorizing my wife's sister any longer!"

"Gúthwyn, please," Amrothos begged, making eye contact with her over Faramir's shoulder. Éomund's daughter flinched and looked away, unable to bear the sound of his voice.

"Shut up," Faramir snarled, slowly forcing him out of the alcove. "Gúthwyn, will you be all right?" he inquired, retaining a tight hold on Amrothos. "Do you want me to send someone to stay with you?"

Gúthwyn quickly shook her head, all the while avoiding Amrothos's pleading glances. The last thing she wanted was for anyone else to be inconvenienced on her account, especially since she was already causing so much trouble for her hosts.

As if reading her mind, Faramir's parting words were, "Aragorn may wish to speak with you soon."

Once he and Amrothos had left, the latter being pulled along none too gently, Gúthwyn drew in a shuddering breath and sank down onto a small bench at the back of the alcove. All she wanted to do at this point was leave. Yet if she did—and especially if she were in this state—she would likely cause a scandal, or at the very least start several rumors. There was no way to escape: she was trapped here, at least until the hour was late.

Burying her face in her hands, she struggled to suppress the flow of tears that had not ceased since Amrothos's attack. It was a losing battle, however, her efforts proving futile with each new round of weeping. Every time she wiped her cheeks with her sleeve, she felt Amrothos's touch and cried even harder.

The sound of someone else's sobs, growing louder as multiple sets of footsteps drew closer, momentarily silenced her. Shrinking further into the shadows, Gúthwyn listened with bated breath.

"It's all _ruined_!" she heard, the wail decidedly childish.

"Gilwen, it is just water," came Nestadan's patient voice an instant later.

"But my dress is all _wet_!" Gilwen shrieked miserably.

By now, the footsteps had reached the alcove. Gúthwyn tentatively peered out and saw the entire family walking by, Gilwen perched on Nestadan's hip and Galanhîr being led along by Nanaendis.

"As soon as we get home, you can change into your favorite nightgown," Nestadan assured her.

This placated Gilwen somewhat, and she demanded, "Are we going home now?"

"Yes, we are," Nestadan confirmed, sharing a tired glance with Nanaendis. Gradually the family's footsteps faded away, leaving Gúthwyn alone once more. If only she, like Gilwen, could throw a tantrum and be allowed—nay, encouraged—to leave the ballroom.

She remained where she was for several more minutes, trying unsuccessfully to dry her eyes. The only comfort she had was the knowledge that Amrothos was in Faramir's custody—and the hope that he would stay there. Though he had already cornered her and ruined her evening, at the very least the Steward would be able to prevent his cousin from causing further damage.

After some time had gone by, a shadow fell over her. Gúthwyn's head snapped up—she half-expected it to be a random partygoer, and half-feared that it would be Amrothos—and then a smile broke through her tears when she saw that it was Cobryn.

"I have been looking for you," he said, sighing in relief. "What happened?"

"I-I was delayed," Gúthwyn answered, her voice cracking. Taking a deep breath, she told Cobryn everything that had transpired since their parting. By the time she finished, she was crying again. It was less what Amrothos had done to her than how easily he had done it—and how little punishment he was likely to get. The injustice of it all was both infuriating and heartbreaking.

Through her blurry vision, she saw Cobryn check to ensure that they were safely out of the waltzing couples' view. When he sat down beside her an instant later and carefully drew her into his arms, she collapsed into his embrace. For the second time that night, his shirt became soaked with her muffled sobs.

"Let me bring you back," he murmured, tightening his grip on her as she wept. "You should not have to endure this for fear of causing a scene. Please, let me take you to Faramir's house."

"W-What about H-Haiweth?" Gúthwyn demanded shakily. "I-I cannot l-l-leave her!"

"Hammel has been watching her," Cobryn answered reassuringly. "She will be fine. You, on the other hand, should not remain here."

"_I_ should not remain here?" Gúthwyn retorted, though her sudden anger was not directed at him. "Do you not mean to say Amrothos? _He_ is the one who should have to leave. Faramir said—" She broke off, for she had already repeated the conversation to Cobryn.

"I would rather see you safely to Faramir's house before Amrothos is thrown outside, if indeed he actually is thrown out," Cobryn said, frowning.

"You do not think he would wait for me, do you?" Gúthwyn asked, shivering. She had been planning on leaving the festivities before Éowyn and Faramir, which would mean walking back alone…

"After what he just did?" Cobryn questioned darkly. "I would not put it past him. He is—" Abruptly, he stopped. Gúthwyn glanced up, puzzled, only to realize that they were no longer alone: Faramir stood before them, a somber look on his face.

"Amrothos has been escorted out of the ball," he informed them, "per Aragorn and Arwen's orders."

Gúthwyn's heart sang with relief, though it was swiftly quelled when she considered what they must have been told in order to level such a judgment. Noticing her troubled countenance, Cobryn inquired, "What do they know about Gúthwyn's past problems with him?"

"Éowyn was already with them when I arrived with Amrothos," Faramir replied, " but I did not hear what information she relayed to them. However, Gúthwyn, Aragorn wishes to have a meeting with you tomorrow."

"A-A meeting?" Gúthwyn repeated, looking fearfully at Cobryn. "W-With Aragorn?"

Faramir nodded. "And Arwen," he added. "He will seek you out to tell you this himself, but I thought…" He paused, shifting uncomfortably on his feet. "I thought that you might want a warning."

"Will this meeting concern only what happened tonight, or will Aragorn be questioning her about the other times Amrothos has attacked her?" Cobryn interrogated Faramir, keeping his arm firmly around Gúthwyn's trembling shoulders.

"I do not know," Faramir admitted. "Yet he did say that he was planning on having a separate talk with Imrahil and Amrothos. I have a feeling that he wants to get to the bottom of this matter—he was furious when he found out what Amrothos had done tonight."

"Do I have to go?" Gúthwyn asked weakly, perhaps childishly. She was not ready to recount the entire story to Aragorn, and certainly not to Arwen.

"Er, yes," Faramir replied apologetically. "However, if Aragorn is indeed looking to pursue this as a criminal matter, you will be allowed to have a family member with you."

"A criminal matter?" Gúthwyn echoed faintly.

"Gondorian law comes down harshly upon those who hurt women or children," Faramir informed her. "If Amrothos is found to be harassing you, then he will face punishment as the king and queen see fit."

Gúthwyn bit her lip, wondering if it was too much to hope that Amrothos would be properly rebuked for what he had done to her. Éomer had magnificently risen to the occasion by banishing him, but it seemed that no such chastisement had occurred in Dol Amroth—despite Imrahil's promise to the contrary. It was clear that Amrothos had not ceased his pursuit of her, though she did not understand why. Had he not accomplished his goal of turning Elphir against her? Had he not thoroughly ruined her reputation in the eyes of both his brother and the entire court of Dol Amroth? Why did he have to target her still?

"I suppose I will leave you two," Faramir said, "though…" There was a short hesitation. "People are starting to wonder about Amrothos's departure, and I fear it will not be long, Gúthwyn, before you are implicated in this turn of events. I would advise returning as soon as possible to the high table, where you will be removed from any such speculation."

"He is right," Cobryn spoke after the Steward left. "It would not do for us to be seen here."

"I look like a mess," Gúthwyn pointed out, rubbing at the tears drying upon her cheeks.

"Keep your face turned away from the masses," Cobryn instructed, tentatively smoothing out her hair. Gúthwyn glanced at him, but allowed him to proceed—and, for the first time, wondered what her life would have been like if she had taken him up on his offer of marriage so many years ago. Given out of friendship, and not of love, Cobryn's proposal was purely intentioned to ensure that she would not have to wed someone undesirable. Had she accepted, tonight's disaster would never have unfolded. She would be safe from Amrothos, and perhaps the nightmare with Lothíriel might have been averted. She could have still been living in Rohan…

"What is it?" Cobryn asked, lowering his hand and looking curiously at her.

Gúthwyn sighed. She had turned down Cobryn for a reason; and, what was more, she of all people knew how dangerous it was to dwell on the past. "Nothing," she replied, making an effort to smile at him. "I simply have no idea what I would do without you, my friend."

"I could say the same for you," Cobryn answered sincerely. "Had you not shown up at Isengard when you did, I can only imagine where Lebryn and I might have gone." His face darkened, a rare glimpse into his memories of Feride. Like Gúthwyn, he had never truly recovered from the loss of his lover; unlike her, however, his pain was buried so deep within that sometimes even she forgot it was there.

Gúthwyn longed to be there for him as he had so often been for her, but she knew that his needs were not the same as hers. Whereas she felt better with someone at her side, he preferred to sequester his grief and deal with it in his own way—alone. Mindful of this, she rose to her feet and briefly touched his shoulder. "I will be at the table," she said quietly, and departed from the alcove.

Already, she could sense the truth of Faramir's words: the joyful atmosphere of the ball had been punctuated by whispers, murmurs, rumors. As she hurried through the crowd, keeping her gaze trained on the ground, those who noticed her passing muttered to their neighbors. She was quite certain that none of what they were saying was flattering.

"Lady Gúthwyn, there you are."

It was Aragorn, who had materialized at her side as if out of thin air. "You are returning to your seat?" he inquired, scrutinizing her expression.

Gúthwyn nodded once, confirming, and Aragorn continued, "Your sister and her husband have informed me of an alarming grievance between yourself and Prince Amrothos." A polite way of putting it, to say the least. "Due to Faramir's account of what transpired this evening, I have had Amrothos escorted out of the White Tower."

"Faramir told me," Gúthwyn admitted. "Thank you for your kindness. I… I confess that I would have left at the first available opportunity, had he remained."

"I am very much perturbed by what happened tonight," Aragorn responded, "but, unfortunately, a ball is not the time to make the necessary inquiries. I trust, then, that Faramir has relayed to you my request for a meeting?"

"He has," Gúthwyn answered, relieved when the high table—and thus, the end of the conversation—came into view. "Will… Will Amrothos be there?" she asked fearfully, almost not wanting to hear the answer.

"Nay," Aragorn replied. "I wish to question the two of you separately, for now. If I find that there is cause for further action, however, you will both need to appear before me. You will be allowed to have family with you."

"Th-Thank you," Gúthwyn stammered, unsure of what else to say.

Aragorn inclined his head. "I am sorry that you had to deal with this tonight," he said. "I hope the rest of your evening is more enjoyable."

Gúthwyn thanked him again, glad when they arrived at the high table. There they parted ways, for the king was expected to mingle with his guests. Éomund's daughter sank gratefully into her seat, acknowledging Éowyn and Faramir as she did so. Prince Imrahil was nowhere in sight.

"I heard what happened," Éowyn spoke worriedly, reaching over and squeezing her hand. "Are you all right?"

Gúthwyn nodded: she would rather lie than have to dwell on the assault anymore.

"Amrothos will get what he deserves," Éowyn vowed, her grip on Gúthwyn tightening. "Aragorn will make sure of it."

"I hope so," Gúthwyn replied softly. "I am sorry that you have had to—"

"Forget it," Éowyn cut her off bracingly. "There is no need to apologize." Both she and Faramir were watching Gúthwyn so concernedly that, when Legolas came up to the high table and took Amrothos's seat, his appearance was a source of relief and distraction.

"Legolas," Gúthwyn greeted him warmly, hoping he would be able to shift the mood of the conversation. "How are you?"

Looking somewhat surprised, Legolas nevertheless recovered quickly and said, "I am well, thank you. And yourself?"

Gúthwyn shrugged, doing her best to ignore Éowyn and Faramir's bemused expressions. Suddenly, she realized that she did not want to be sitting here, an object to be pitied—she longed to get up and leave, though she knew not where she would go. Perhaps to sit in a corner and observe Haiweth from a distance? Nay, alone she would only attract more attention. But what if…

"Would you care to dance?" she blurted out, her cheeks reddening when Legolas's eyebrows shot upwards in astonishment.

"I… Of course," the prince finally said, though not without a curious glance in Éowyn and Faramir's direction.

Gúthwyn did not linger in her seat a second longer; she all but leaped to her feet in an entirely unladylike display, then waited impatiently for Legolas to do the same and walk around the table to stand beside her. When he offered his arm, she took it as she might a lifeline—anything to get away from Éowyn and Faramir's concerned looks and potential questions about her wellbeing.

"I presume you still do not know how to waltz?" Legolas inquired, though not unkindly; indeed, a small grin was tugging at the corners of his lips as they joined the rest of the waltzing couples.

"That would be correct," Gúthwyn confirmed with a grimace.

Legolas, as always, took over with a simpler dance that was close enough to what the others were doing, yet not nearly as complicated. "May I inquire as to why you were so eager to dance with me?" he asked as they turned. "You seemed to desire nothing more than to leave the table."

Gúthwyn blushed, hoping that he did not think she was using him—even though, she thought guiltily, technically she was. "I did not want Éowyn and Faramir to question me about Amrothos," she admitted, frowning. "He… well, he followed me and tried to talk to me, and now I have to discuss the whole thing with Aragorn at some point, and I was worried that my sister might press me for more information," she finished in a rush.

"He followed you?" Legolas repeated, his eyes widening. "When? Are you all right? Did he hurt you?"

"I am fine," Gúthwyn said quickly, forcing the lump back down her throat. "I just… I would rather not…"

Legolas visibly restrained himself from interrogating her, though she could tell how much the effort cost him. "And Aragorn is to meet with you?" he asked instead.

"Yes," Gúthwyn answered, adding: "Faramir thinks that he might want to… to 'pursue this as a criminal matter.'"

"How do you feel about that?" Legolas inquired gently.

"I am thankful for Aragorn's kindness," Gúthwyn replied, "though I fear it will be little more than a token gesture. After all, Imrahil promised to punish Amrothos—and yet, as far as I can tell, nothing happened. Are you… are you familiar with Gondorian law, by any chance? Do you know what sort of penalties there might be?"

Legolas looked uneasy. "To my knowledge, most criminals are thrown into jail. Those who commit particularly heinous offenses are put on open trial, and sometimes flogged or put to death. Yet I do not think that will be Amrothos's fate, as Aragorn reserves those punishments for the worst of crimes."

Gúthwyn sighed unhappily. "All of those options seem very… well, public. I do not want the whole of Minas Tirith to know what Amrothos did to me," she said, swallowing. "No matter what Aragorn says, everyone will blame it on me. They will say that I seduced him, or that I am lying because Elphir saw us."

"They will listen to Aragorn," Legolas insisted. "If he condemns Amrothos for his behavior, they will trust in his judgment."

"Perhaps in the moment Aragorn stands before them and does such a thing," Gúthwyn replied cynically, "but once they are left to their own devices, they will recall that I already have two children. And if I have two children, I must be a whore." Her voice broke on the word, despite her valiant efforts to keep it steady.

"That is not true," Legolas swore. "Anyone who does not believe you is a fool. If Aragorn, Éowyn, Faramir, and Imrahil stand behind you, there should be no reason to doubt the truth of your account. _I_ will stand behind you," he added forcefully.

Legolas's words brought a quivering smile to Gúthwyn's face. "Thank you," she murmured, feeling an overwhelming sense of gratitude. Although she believed that no one—not even King Elessar—had enough clout to quell the gossipers, she had not expected Legolas to be so unwavering in his defense of her. After all, surely he had more pressing concerns than the transgressions of mortals.

The song came to an end just then, prompting Legolas to release her and bow. "Wait," said Gúthwyn, a little breathlessly, when he opened his mouth to bid her farewell: they never danced more than once at any event. "I—"

What she had been about to ask him, she could not truthfully say—but she never got the chance to, because at that moment Legolas's features contorted angrily.

"Legolas?" she questioned worriedly, taking a step back.

Before he could answer, she heard it: a whisper, seemingly out of thin air, saying, "Yes, there she is—the so-called _Lady_ Gúthwyn."

Gúthwyn whirled around, scanning the crowd for the person who had spoken. By all appearances, however, everyone nearby was demurely dancing with their partner.

"I noticed that Imrahil's son left shortly after he saw her."

"Well, that is no surprise, given what happened with Elphir. Everyone knows that he ended their betrothal because he came to his senses—she is no better than a harlot, after all."

"Gúthwyn," Legolas began, looking horrified; but Gúthwyn was rooted firmly in place, unable to pinpoint the source of the voices yet still able to hear everything more or less perfectly.

"I was told something much worse. According to my cousin in Dol Amroth—whose wife's aunt's cousin is a servant at the palace—Elphir caught her and Amrothos together in a compromising position, if you catch my meaning."

There was a scandalized gasp. "His own brother!"

"Precisely. How King Éomer can keep her around—I would have thrown her out years ago. She is an embarrassment to him and his entire kingdom."

The voices faded away, their owners likely having moved to another spot on the floor, yet now the couples nearby were staring at Gúthwyn as her eyes filled up with tears.

"Gúthwyn—" Legolas started again, but it was too late: Éomund's daughter had reached her breaking point.

"_This_ is why Aragorn's support is useless," she cut Legolas off with a hoarse whisper. "You heard them, and so did they!" She gestured to the lords and ladies around her, most of whom hastily feigned ignorance to her presence. "No matter what I do," she continued quietly, her cheeks turning wet, "no matter what anyone tells them, they will always think that I am a whore!"

Without another word, she spun around on her heel and fled. Legolas tried to follow her, but she was smaller and able to slip through the dancers easier. Nor did she stop once she had broken out of the crowd: she headed straight for the side door, her only thoughts those of escape.

When Legolas finally reached the door a few minutes later, he stepped outside into an empty garden.


	65. Teatime Confessions

**A/N:** You guys, Entertainment Weekly released some new photos from The Hobbit! *squee* I'm getting ridiculously excited for 2012. Between this and that new Three Musketeers movie, which has Orlando Bloom in it (as Buckingham, haha), I feel like I'm back in middle school. It's wonderful. Also in Hobbit news, they've casted someone from Lost (nope, not Dom) as an Elf of Mirkwood. I won't say who it is, in case y'all are trying to avoid spoilers, but the casting choice is making me very intrigued!

And, um, this author's note had nothing to do with the actual story. Oops.

P.S. This chapter could alternatively be titled "Legolas is a Total Badass" or "Legolas Basically Just Wins at Life." =D

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><p><strong>Chapter Sixty-Five<strong>

The second the frigid air nipped at her neck and face, Gúthwyn knew that running from the ball had probably not been a wise choice on her part. However, the alternative—going back—was enough to convince her to forge on, her shoulders hunched over against the wind and tears still leaking down her cheeks.

It was not that she had been rattled by the "whore" and "harlot" epithets hurled anonymously at her; or, rather, she had been, but it was not the first time she had been called a slut and it certainly would not be the last. What was worse, what had finally driven her out of the ballroom, was the insinuation that she had welcomed Amrothos's advances—nay, that she had _encouraged_ them. As if she had asked to be molested in the stables. As if it were her fault she was no longer a virgin. It was disgusting and cruel and, in spite of the fact that she knew they were wrong, heartbreaking.

"I hate all of them," she whispered angrily to herself, wiping uselessly at her eyes. "I hate Minas Tirith, I hate Dol Amroth, I hate—"

Suddenly, she came to a halt. There was a lone figure some fifty yards away from her, someone who paused when they caught sight of her and then began to walk swiftly towards her. As the moonlight fell upon a gaunt face and dark features, Gúthwyn felt a wave of terror chill her to the bone. _No,_ she thought wildly, scrambling backwards in horror. _No, please, this cannot be happening…_

"Gúthwyn, wait!" Amrothos called.

The sound of his hoarse voice spurred her to action. She turned and sprinted in the opposite direction, cursing her dress when she had to hold up the skirt to avoid tripping. Behind her, Amrothos gave chase; she could hear his footsteps slapping rapidly against the stones and the sharp, ragged breathing that commenced a moment later. Without thinking, without daring to think, Gúthwyn flung herself into the tunnel that ran down into the sixth level.

Almost immediately, she shrieked in alarm: it was completely pitch black, to the point where the only thing she could see was the faintest glimmer at the very end. She bolted towards the light, terrified of what else might be in the tunnel with her—only to run right into a bend in the wall and get knocked flat onto the ground.

"No!" Gúthwyn cried, in equal amounts terror and frustration. She lurched to her feet and reached forwards, frantically trying to feel her way out of the tunnel. Amrothos was still outside, but not for long—if she were trapped in here with him…

_Please, get me out of here,_ she prayed feverishly to the Valar, her right side banging against the wall with each step. When would the curve end?

"Gúthwyn!" she heard again, this time at the mouth of the tunnel.

"_Get away from me!_" Gúthwyn screamed, panicking. Abandoning all sense of caution, not caring when her shoulder suffered as a result, she lunged towards the light. A few agonizing seconds later, she broke free of the curve and had a clear path to the exit—just as Amrothos gave a muffled grunt of pain. Evidently, he had also encountered the same obstacle.

Her reunion with the open air was exhilarating, but Gúthwyn could not afford to pause. The thought came to her to seek shelter within the Houses of Healing: if she could just hide and let Amrothos pass her by, she would be able to sneak back up to the seventh level and into the sanctuary of the Steward's House.

Yet she had gone no more than a couple of yards in that direction before Amrothos shouted again; and, to her horror, she realized that he had halved the distance between them. "Gúthwyn, stop!" he yelled. "Listen to me!"

An instant later, she heard a loud _thump_ and a furious curse. Gúthwyn did not dare glance back, but she guessed that he had tripped—and yet, from where he was he might have a clear view of the Houses of Healing. If she ran into them, he would see her, he would know where she had gone…

_Nestadan._

The healer's name appeared in her head as if it were a light sent by the Valar to guide her, and she instantly acted. Abruptly swerving, she ducked into the small alley next to the Houses of Healing. Hoping against hope that Amrothos had been too busy picking himself up to see where she had gone, Gúthwyn took one turn and then another, at last emerging onto Nestadan's street. She bolted towards the stone wall into which his apartment had been built, halting just in time to prevent herself from crashing into it.

Knocking rapidly on the door, Gúthwyn cried as loudly as she dared: "Nestadan! Nestadan, please, help!"

She almost collapsed in relief when the door opened a second later, revealing a bewildered Nestadan—whose expression quickly transformed into one of worry when he realized who his late-night visitor was. "Lady Gúthwyn?" he asked, frowning.

"Please," Gúthwyn begged, barely able to speak as she gasped for air, "I am being followed…"

Nestadan immediately stepped aside. It was all the invitation Éomund's daughter needed: she leaped across the threshold, her legs nearly giving out beneath her when she at last reached safety.

"Who is following you?" Nestadan demanded, swiftly closing the door. As he spoke, Gúthwyn saw Nanaendis for the first time; the healer's wife was gaping at her in alarm and confusion. Galanhîr and Gilwen were nowhere in sight—it was likely well past their bedtime.

"Amrothos," Gúthwyn choked out, clutching at her chest as she struggled to regain her breath.

Nestadan and Nanaendis exchanged stunned looks. "_Prince_ Amrothos?" Nanaendis finally questioned, her eyes widening.

Gúthwyn nodded, unable to say anything else. She was dangerously close to tears, though she did not want to frighten Nestadan and Nanaendis even more than she was certain she already had. Glancing out the window, she attempted to discern whether or not she had lost Imrahil's son—but she was foiled by the curtains, which effectively deterred her from gazing out onto the street.

"Nanaendis, will you make Lady Gúthwyn a cup of tea?" Nestadan inquired, taking in Gúthwyn's frazzled state.

"Of course," Nanaendis agreed, hurrying over to the cupboards.

Éomund's daughter opened her mouth to protest, not wanting the family to feel obligated to serve her—but, just then, there was a knock at the door. It was less a knock than a heavy banging; and her heart jumped into her throat, for she knew that it was Amrothos. Horrified, she shrank back.

"Under the table," Nestadan hissed, gesturing.

Gúthwyn looked and saw, tucked into a corner of the room, a table covered with a mantle that fell to the floor. She did not need to be told twice. Dropping to her knees, she crawled under the edge of the tablecloth and sat there, hugging her legs to her chest and trembling with fear.

A moment later, she heard the door open. "Prince Amrothos," Nestadan said, sounding surprised. "To what do we owe the honor, my lord?"

"I am looking for Lady Gúthwyn of Rohan," Amrothos's voice answered, his words punctuated with harsh breathing. "She left the ball and is somewhere around here. It is not safe for her to be wandering around alone."

Gúthwyn dug her nails into her thighs in silent fury.

"Are you sure she is on this level?" Nestadan inquired, his tone puzzled. "Her lodgings are on the seventh level."

"Nay, I saw her turn onto this street," Amrothos insisted.

There was a pause. Gúthwyn was holding her breath at this point, afraid that she might cause the tablecloth to quiver and give away her position.

"So, you have not seen her?" Amrothos finally asked.

"I am sorry, but I have not," Nestadan replied.

"You are Faramir's healer, are you not?" Amrothos inquired slowly.

"I am, my lord," Nestadan confirmed.

"Surely you have treated Lady Gúthwyn before, then," Amrothos said suspiciously.

Éomund's daughter paled: he had made a perilously shrewd connection. What if he tried to force his way into the house? If Nestadan or Nanaendis were hurt because of her…

"I am afraid that I am not at liberty to discuss the lady's health," Nestadan told him, politely yet firmly.

"Very well," Amrothos answered at length, reluctantly. "If you see her, will you tell her to return to the Steward's House? I would not want her sister to worry."

"I shall," Nestadan promised.

Gúthwyn slowly exhaled when the door closed, but she remained where she was under the table: what if Amrothos peered through the curtains to see if she came out of hiding? She could not risk exposing herself.

It seemed that Nestadan had similar thoughts, for she could hear him moving around the room and pushing aside the curtains. At length, he said, "You can come out now."

Although she would have preferred to linger within her cocoon of safety, Gúthwyn obediently crawled out from under the tablecloth and stood up. Only then, in the flickering candlelight, did she see what had happened to her white dress: it was covered in a thin sheen of dirt, the once shimmering fabric now stained from the times she had fallen.

The ruin of her gown was hardly the worst thing that had happened to her tonight, but on top of everything else it was enough to summon the tears. Was it not symbolic, after all, of her social status? Of the way she was now perceived by everyone outside of Rohan? The Valar only knew what the Gondorians were saying about her now, what the visitors from Dol Amroth had managed to tell them.

"Gúthwyn?" Nestadan asked quietly.

"I-I am sorry," she whispered, wiping fiercely at her eyes. "I-I did not m-mean to d-d-disturb your evening…"

"Say nothing of it," Nestadan replied, waving her concerns away. "Please, sit down."

Once Gúthwyn had seated herself at the small table, Nanaendis came over bearing a steaming cup of tea. Éomund's daughter gratefully accepted it, though the hot drink could not and would not help her calm down; she nevertheless took a long draught, wincing as the liquid burned its way down her throat.

Nestadan and Nanaendis joined her. "Why was Amrothos following you?" the former gently inquired.

Gúthwyn bit her lip in response. Though she knew Nestadan was trustworthy—indeed, though he had just hidden her from Amrothos—she was hesitant to recall her past with Imrahil's youngest son. She could not explain what had happened tonight without alluding to the assault in the stables; at least, not in any way that made sense.

"He…" she began tentatively, clutching the cup of tea so tightly that it scalded her hands. "He… Well, he c-cornered me at the b-ball tonight, and…"

"And what?" Nestadan prompted her when she faltered.

Gúthwyn's breathing was becoming uneven. "He… He…"

She was interrupted by an unexpected voice from the other end of the room. "What's going on?" Galanhîr demanded curiously, his slippers making shuffling noises on the ground as he approached the adults. "Why are you here?" he asked Gúthwyn, frowning.

Nanaendis quickly rose to her feet. "Galanhîr, you should be in bed," she admonished her son. "Come, I will tuck you back in."

"But why is she here?" Galanhîr persisted as Nanaendis took him by the arm, peering back over his shoulder. "Are you having a grown-up talk?"

Nanaendis's reply was indiscernible, for she succeeded in guiding Galanhîr through the door leading into the bedroom and immediately closed it. Gúthwyn was left to twist her fingers and avoid Nestadan's gaze, though the room seemed to have shrunk and it was harder than ever before.

"What did he do?" Nestadan finally inquired, when the silence had grown unbearable.

By now, tears were slipping steadily down Gúthwyn's cheeks. "He touched my face," she whispered, swallowing. It was the only confession she could bring herself to make.

After a long pause in which the only sound was Gúthwyn's unsteady breathing, Nestadan tentatively spoke. "Amrothos has done worse to you before," he said—a statement, not a question.

Staring down at the table, Gúthwyn saw it blur in front of her eyes as she nodded. She did not dare to look at the healer. Her thoughts were shifting, moving from the stables to Haldor's tent. Worse, yes, far worse; and she was equally powerless to stop it. Nestadan was dangerously close to guessing, if he had not already… Her mind had gone back to the cot, rocking beneath her as Haldor moved in and out. Her gasps of pain and discomfort, either ignored or mocked. His cold hands pinning her down, his fingernails digging so tightly into her arms that there were marks the next day. Her relief and disgust when it was over, and she was safe for another week…

"Did he rape you?" Nestadan asked, so quietly that at first she thought—hoped—she had imagined it.

Yet the question was real, and Nestadan's expression told her that he already knew the answer, and suddenly Gúthwyn's defenses were breached and resistance was impossible. She broke down then and there, overwhelmed by memories past and present, unable to escape the taunting laughter ringing in her ears. "N-Not A-A-Amrothos," she managed to choke out, barely able to breathe. "S-S-Someone e-else…"

For a moment, Nestadan looked as if he were going to reach out and touch her arm; but he thought better of it and relented. "Who?" he asked, the single word overflowing with both fury and pity.

Gúthwyn shook her head. "D-Dead," she gasped, struggling for air. "P-P-Please, do n-not tell a-a-anyone…"

"Not a word shall fall from my lips," Nestadan swore. His next words, however, were far more uncertain. "Is there… Is there anything I can do?"

A dry sob escaped Éomund's daughter. "N-Nothing anyone c-c-can do," she replied, wiping uselessly at her cheeks. "N-Not Éowyn, not m-my brother… E-Even healers only m-mend broke… broken bones, not…" _Broken souls._

"When did it happen?" Nestadan queried softly.

Gúthwyn's shoulders shook. "A-A d-_decade_ ago!" she cried, hating herself for this weakness. "A-And still I-I cannot g-get _over_ it!"

"Gúthwyn, you are not speaking of a wound that time can fully heal," Nestadan told her somberly. "You certainly will never forget it."

"B-But I-I am so _sick_ of remembering it!" Gúthwyn retorted, clenching her fists. "I-I have not m-married, I-I am _childless_ because of it! I j-just w-want to be normal for _once_…" She was babbling, she was saying too much; Nestadan would surely think she had gone insane.

Yet the healer's censure never came. "Is there anyone you can talk to about this?" he instead inquired. "Sometimes that helps, if you have someone who understands what you are going through."

Gúthwyn hesitated. "É-Éowyn a-and Éomer try," she answered wretchedly, "but…" Though her siblings were a source of comfort, in truth it was Cobryn who was able to provide her the most support. Yet even her friend did not fully comprehend…

Before Nestadan could respond, Nanaendis reentered the room. "Is everything all right?" she asked concernedly, glancing back and forth between Gúthwyn and her husband.

Éomund's daughter immediately retreated into her shell. "Y-Yes, I-I am fine," she said, wiping her eyes and taking several deep breaths. Willing herself to remain calm, she shuddered and announced, "I should be… I should heading back. It is getting late."

"Are you sure?" Nanaendis questioned. "If you are worried about intruding, please, do not be. Amrothos might still be out there."

"At the very least, let me walk you back," Nestadan insisted. "We can either return to the ball, or I can escort you to the Steward's House."

"I-I would rather turn in for the night," Gúthwyn said, repulsed by the thought of willingly subjecting herself to another round of ill-concealed whispers and speculation. "B-But I can w-walk back on my own, I—"

"Absolutely not," Nestadan and Nanaendis simultaneously replied.

"I will go with you," Nestadan added, reiterating his wife's warning when Gúthwyn opened her mouth to protest: "Amrothos might still be out there."

Gúthwyn could hardly argue with that. Reluctantly, she acquiesced. "Thank you," she murmured.

"Will you be all right alone?" Nestadan asked Nanaendis. "I should not be long."

Nanaendis waved him off. "Be careful," she urged them both.

A moment later, Gúthwyn and Nestadan stepped out onto the street. Both of them scanned their surroundings for any signs of lurking Dol Amroth royalty, but the road was miraculously Amrothos-free. Upon determining this, Éomund's daughter exhaled in relief. Her breath took form and hovered in front of her face like a wispy cloud, reminding her just how cold it was. In fact, the air seemed to have grown even more frigid since she had taken refuge in Nestadan's house. Shivering in discomfort, she wrapped her arms around herself.

"Here," Nestadan offered immediately, undoing the clasp of his cloak and holding it out to her. Gúthwyn tried to refuse, but he persisted: "Please, take it. There is no need for you to fall ill."

Gúthwyn grudgingly accepted the garment and draped it around her shoulders. As much as she hated to admit it, the warm fabric considerably reduced her suffering. Her gown had not been designed to be worn during the winter, of that she was certain.

"I am sorry I ruined your evening," she apologized after a brief silence, embarrassed. She had not meant for him to find out as much as he had, and she cursed herself for her stupidity. Too many people knew what had happened to her, and sometimes—such as it had with Gamling—it changed their perceptions of her.

"You did no such thing," Nestadan told her; it was, she thought, a polite assurance. "I was glad to—"

Abruptly, the healer stopped speaking. He and Éomund's daughter had just turned onto another street, where their progress was blocked by the sight of someone waiting for them.

"I knew it," Amrothos declared triumphantly, his cloak rippling behind him as he strode towards Gúthwyn, who backed away in terror. "I knew you were with him."

Nestadan stepped in front of Éomund's daughter. "Get away from her," he answered coldly. "You have no right to seek her audience, not after what you have done."

"Gúthwyn, listen to me," Amrothos said urgently, talking over the healer's shoulder.

Gúthwyn flinched at the sound of his voice, as though she had been struck instead of spoken to, and Nestadan quickly intervened. "Go!" he barked harshly at the prince. "Have you not caused enough trouble already? Leave her alone!"

"I just need a moment—"

"I want nothing to do with you!" Gúthwyn shrieked, alarmed by the way Amrothos's eyelids kept twitching. "Stop following me!"

Amrothos took another step forward, prompting Nestadan to hold out his hand in a warning gesture. "I will not repeat myself again," the healer said firmly. "Make way, and give us no further trouble."

"I am a prince," Amrothos replied, sending a triumphant look towards Gúthwyn that made her skin crawl. "You have no right to tell me what I can and cannot do. Get out of my way."

"I think not," Nestadan answered, not budging an inch.

"Just how, then, are you going to stop me?" Amrothos inquired softly, moving closer.

"I will take care of that," said a familiar voice from somewhere behind Imrahil's son.

Amrothos whirled around, only to find the tip of a long, white knife pressed against his throat. "The last time we spoke, I believe I told you that if you ever hurt Lady Gúthwyn again, I would cut off your wandering hands," Legolas uttered, his cold blue gaze fixated on the other prince.

Éomund's daughter gasped in relief, knowing that she was finally safe. She had no idea what Legolas had been doing on the sixth level in the first place, or even which direction he had come from—because she could have sworn that the street had been empty but a few seconds ago—yet his timing could not have been better. He would stop Amrothos; he would protect her.

"Give me one reason why I should not follow through on my words," Legolas ordered Amrothos, advancing when the other prince stepped fearfully back. Gúthwyn and Nestadan quickly moved out of the way, neither of them desiring to get caught in the crossfire.

Amrothos's cocky demeanor had vanished completely, replaced by a look of sheer terror. Licking his lips nervously, he eyed the blade at his throat. "I just…" he began, swallowing.

"You just _what_?" Legolas asked, his voice deadly quiet.

"I-I just w-wanted to… to apologize," Amrothos croaked.

Gúthwyn blanched, covering her open mouth with a quivering hand. Legolas glanced at her, frowning, and she frantically shook her head: not only did she not believe that Amrothos was sorry for what he had done, she suspected that he was trying to get her to lower her defenses so that he could assault her again. Why else would he have yanked her into the alcove, stroked her cheek, and not said a word about this so-called apology?

Legolas's expression was livid as he turned back to Amrothos. "You would force your apology on her," the Elf spat, "just as you once tried to force yourself on her?"

Amrothos stiffened. "Th-That is not what I—"

"No," Legolas cut him off furiously, "that is exactly what you are doing. Gúthwyn has made it very clear to you that she does not want your attentions, and instead of respecting her wishes you have gone out of your way to terrorize and discomfort her. You are a disgrace to your title and to your father, you drunkard!"

"I am not a drunkard!" Amrothos hissed, his face reddening.

"That you are, and worse," Legolas countered, still not lowering his knife: "you are a man who preys on innocent women and then says nothing as their reputation suffers the consequences. You are a despicable excuse for a human being, and your behavior tonight has done nothing but confirm that. If I were you, I would return to my lodgings and make no further effort to contact Gúthwyn until you are summoned by Aragorn to accept responsibility for your actions."

For once, Amrothos was speechless. Nor was he the only one: Gúthwyn could scarcely believe what she was hearing. Never before had Legolas come so thoroughly to her aid, not as far as denouncing her critics went. For a moment, she was reminded of Borogor defending her against the likes of Lumren and Burzum.

_No,_ she thought quickly, mortified. _Borogor loved me. That was different._

Legolas drew in closer to Amrothos, the disgust in his gaze palpable. "Why are you still here?" he asked coldly.

Amrothos hastily moved out of the knife's range. With one last, desperate look at Éomund's daughter, he retreated from the group, his gait unsteady as he vanished around the corner. Gúthwyn exhaled when he was gone, keenly aware of her rapidly beating heart. She had been fortunate enough to escape this time, but she could have easily been a victim again tonight.

"Are both of you all right?" Legolas inquired, only returning his gaze to them once Amrothos was out of sight.

Nestadan nodded; Gúthwyn flinched and stared at the ground.

"Gúthwyn?" Legolas asked worriedly.

"I-I am fine," Éomund's daughter answered, not caring how blatant the lie was. "H-How did you…?"

"You were gone by the time I got out of the White Tower," Legolas explained somberly, "so I decided to walk around in case you had not returned to the Steward's House. I was near the gate to the sixth level when I thought I heard footsteps, so I came to investigate… and I am thankful I did."

"So am I," Nestadan replied, frowning. "Amrothos looked half-mad."

"Thank you," Gúthwyn said to Legolas, taking a deep breath. She did not know if she could bring herself to ruminate upon Nestadan's assessment of Imrahil's son, not when she thought it was all too accurate. Something had happened to Amrothos since his visit to Rohan, something which had changed him for the worse. She did not want to guess at what he might have done to her in such a state. "Y-Your timing was quite fortunate."

"I wish I had found you sooner," Legolas responded, ruefully shaking his head. "Please, allow me to at least see you safely back to the Steward's House."

Since Legolas was the only person who had ever succeeded in cowing Amrothos, Gúthwyn could not help but consider it prudent to take him up on his offer. "I-I would appreciate th-that," she stammered, flushing when the Elf smiled comfortingly at her.

Then she remembered that Nestadan had already pledged to do the same. Turning to the healer, she said quietly, "I will not hold you to your promise, for I know that Nanaendis is awaiting your return."

"Are you sure?" Nestadan asked, surveying Legolas for a moment. He seemed to determine the prince to be trustworthy, yet he nevertheless added: "It is not at all an imposition."

"You have done more than enough for me tonight," Gúthwyn replied, her voice catching when she recalled how much she had revealed to him.

Judging by the look upon his face, Nestadan understood. "Then I will be on my way," he spoke, inclining his head. "Good night, my lady. My lord," he said to Legolas.

Gúthwyn thanked him wholeheartedly, and attempted to insist that he take back his cloak; but he refused, saying that he would retrieve it the following day, and departed with a promise to check on her the next morning. Once he was gone, she and Legolas began the trek up to the seventh level.

"If it is not too intrusive of me to inquire," Legolas started, glancing questioningly at her, "why were you with Nestadan?"

Éomund's daughter reluctantly relayed the story of how Amrothos had chased her down to the sixth level, informing Legolas of how she had sought sanctuary at Nestadan's house—leaving out, of course, her humiliating and tearful confession to the healer. As she spoke, Legolas's countenance grew increasingly angry.

"Had I known of this, I would have been far less kind to Amrothos," he swore. Gúthwyn saw his fists clench, and eyed his taut arms before concluding that they were no threat to her. He was furious on her behalf, not with her; she could relax, she told herself.

"Hopefully, once Aragorn is done investigating the matter I will never have to see him again," she replied. "I—oh, no…"

They had come to the tunnel leading back to the seventh level, the tunnel in which there was but a pinprick of light to guide the traveler. Gúthwyn came to a halt and stared apprehensively into its depths, unable to suppress the plumes of nervousness rising within her. She remembered how she had almost been trapped in there with Amrothos, and felt a dull ache in her shoulder from where she had unexpectedly encountered a curve in the wall.

She could tell that Legolas had detected both her anxiety and the reason behind it, but there was no scorn in his eyes as he wordlessly held out his arm. Gúthwyn swallowed as she took it, loathing her terror. Too strong a grip did this phobia have on her, and she had never been able to break free from it. Even now, she could still see those Warg eyes gleaming at her from the darkness…

She shrank against Legolas as they ventured further into the tunnel, incapable of exercising restraint. He said nothing, not even when her shoulder bumped against his arm; nor did he wince when her hold on him tightened considerably. For once, Gúthwyn was glad that he towered over her: she imagined that he was a barrier, if only on her left side, between her and anything that might have been lurking in the shadows.

When they finally emerged from the tunnel, she slowly exhaled and uncurled her fingers from Legolas's forearm. She gasped guiltily when she saw the marks her nails had left on his skin. "I-I am s-s-so sorry," she stammered, mortified.

"Say nothing of it," Legolas bade her, his blue gaze steadily holding hers. "I would endure far worse to ensure your comfort."

His words caught Gúthwyn off-guard, and for a moment she was completely speechless. She had heard this before: from Cobryn, from Tun, from Borogor. From men she loved, whether as a friend or something more. For it to come from Legolas was disorienting and confusing—what did he mean by it? Was he only being kind? Why was she finding it so difficult to respond?

"I… Thank you," she finally settled on answering, searching his eyes for a sign of something, a flicker of anything, that would help her decode the enigmatic statement.

"You are most welcome," Legolas replied, his expression utterly inscrutable.

The rest of the walk was undertaken in silence.


	66. Payback

**Chapter Sixty-Six**

To say that Gúthwyn got no sleep that night was an understatement of near criminal proportions. After Legolas brought her back to the Steward's House, she set about washing herself from head to toe—only to still feel dirty and contaminated when the water ran out, and even after she had stolen Hammel and Haiweth's pitchers. By the time Éowyn and Faramir returned, she had all the appearance of slumbering peacefully in her bed; but had the White Lady looked closer before shutting the door again, she would have seen that the younger woman's face was streaked with fresh tears.

If she had managed to fall asleep, however, Gúthwyn might have suffered more: she could only imagine what sort of nightmares would have awaited her. It was perhaps fortunate that she tossed and turned until dawn, kept awake by the horrible memories and an overwhelming sense of humiliation. Between what Amrothos had done to her and her ensuing breakdown in Nestadan's home, the latter of which was completely mortifying, she could scarcely close her eyes.

She arose from her bed, bloodshot, around what she guessed to be breakfast time. Rather than join the others, she dressed in the most conservative gown she had brought to Minas Tirith and sat at her desk, warily eying a sheet of parchment. The thought had come to her to write to Éomer, for she knew that Éowyn would tell him even if she did not—but she could not bring herself to commit the words to paper.

Scarcely had she lowered the quill when there was a knock on the door. Inwardly groaning, Gúthwyn decided to remain quiet and hope that, whoever it was, they would go away.

Unfortunately, she had reckoned without taking Cobryn into account.

"You are awake," her friend remarked, upon opening the door and seeing her at her desk. The surprise in his voice was evident.

"I never went to sleep," Gúthwyn replied dully, rubbing at her eyes.

Cobryn surveyed her for a moment, then pulled up a chair beside her and sat down. "I believe I returned to the Steward's House not long after you did, having gone in search of you when I realized you were missing from the ball," he said. "I found Legolas outside, waiting—so he told me—for Éowyn and Faramir to come back."

Gúthwyn stared at Cobryn in both astonishment and alarm. "I hope he was not there for long!" she exclaimed, horrified that he had so inconvenienced himself for her sake.

Shaking his head, Cobryn answered, "They arrived not ten minutes after I did. Legolas then told us what had happened. Are you all right?"

"Do I look all right?" Gúthwyn countered, making a feeble attempt at a grin. When said attempt utterly failed, she sighed and added, "I cannot believe he had the nerve to… to follow me… and to try to apologize!"

"Yes, that in particular was very odd," Cobryn replied, frowning. "I would not have thought him to be sorry for what he did."

"I daresay he is not," Gúthwyn answered. "He is as awful as they come. He was probably hoping to lure me into complacency."

"But had that been his intent, surely he would have gone about it a different way," Cobryn said. "At the least, he would have been more discreet about it. He had to have known that Legolas would never let him within a yard of you."

"I was very glad when he showed up," Gúthwyn admitted, gazing down at her hands. "Not that Nestadan is an inferior guardian, of course, but I was worried that Amrothos might have tried to hurt him—and I would never have forgiven myself."

"Nestadan came by earlier today," Cobryn informed her. "He sought an audience with Éowyn and Faramir, and he added a little to Legolas's account; he also wished to be assured of your wellbeing, and requested that you stop by his home today if you are able."

Gúthwyn bit her lip. She did not want to face the healer again, now that she had revealed to him her most closely-kept secret. What if he told Nanaendis? They were married, after all—surely they shared everything. Éomund's daughter believed the two of them to be trustworthy, but that would not prevent her future meetings with them from being uncomfortable.

"What is it?" Cobryn asked.

"Nothing," Gúthwyn responded; but at a stern look from him, she said, "I was just thinking… Éomer will have to be written to."

"Perhaps you should save that exercise, if indeed you are prepared for its undertaking, until later this evening," Cobryn advised her. "Your meeting with Aragorn and Arwen is at noon."

Gúthwyn drew in a sharp breath: she had forgotten about that. "Please tell me that I am allowed to bring someone with me," she begged her friend, positively dreading the event.

"Éowyn will accompany you," Cobryn assured her. "Faramir volunteered, but your sister thought it would be best if she went."

"Aragorn said he would interview me alone, first," Gúthwyn ruminated, troubled. "Will I have to… Will I have to face Amrothos today, or will that be postponed?"

"I suppose that will depend on how long each of you are questioned," Cobryn replied.

Éomund's daughter did not know which was worse: the prospect of a lengthy interrogation by the king of Gondor, or having to see Amrothos without Éomer at her side to kill him. For a brief moment, she indulged herself in the contemplation of having the proceedings delayed until Éomer could be reached, and perhaps prevailed upon to journey to Minas Tirith—but alas, it would not do. Her brother had a kingdom to run, and Imrahil was likely to be needed back in Dol Amroth. Neither of them could afford her selfishness.

"You should try to get some sleep," Cobryn suggested, though judging by his tone of voice he knew she would have little success. "You have a long day ahead of you."

Gúthwyn was already shaking her head. "Nay," she responded; "I suspect I will find no rest until my body cannot bear to remain awake anymore. Please, let us discuss something else. Tell me about the ball—or rather, tell me about Hammel and Haiweth's evening."

"For Hammel's part, there is little to report," Cobryn obliged her, though he continued watching her sharply. "He scowled at everyone until he was quite alienated by his peers, and was thus ignored for the rest of the night—leaving him at liberty to keep an eye on Haiweth, who was much better received by the other teenagers and spent most of her time dancing."

"With whom?" Gúthwyn asked quickly. "Not Talathdil, I hope? He is too old for her!"

"Talathdil was one of her partners," Cobryn said, "but"—he continued as Gúthwyn's eyes narrowed dangerously—"according to Hammel his behavior was no more than friendly, and Haiweth did not appear to be encouraging him in the least."

"I would pray not," Gúthwyn answered curtly. "She should not be flirting with anyone! She is much too young."

"A little harmless flirting never hurt anyone," Cobryn said mildly, earning him an ill-tempered look from Éomund's daughter.

"And her other partners?" Gúthwyn prompted him, her voice rather frosty.

"All boys her age. Hammel saw nothing of concern."

"Just how many partners did she have?" Gúthwyn asked slowly.

"From the sound of it, she did not sit down once the entire evening. But, Gúthwyn—"

"I know what you are going to say," Éomund's daughter cut him off, rising to her feet and starting towards her dresser, "but I would prefer it if you did not."

"You cannot be thinking of berating her for her friendliness," Cobryn said in exasperation.

"Not her friendliness," Gúthwyn corrected, opening one of the drawers and selecting a thick cloak, "but her susceptibility to danger."

"She was not in any danger. It was a crowded room and Hammel was watching her at all times!"

"Not in any danger?" Gúthwyn repeated, giving a hollow laugh. "That is funny, I seem to recall Amrothos detaining me in the supposed sanctuary of this 'crowded room.' How easy it would have been for one of those boys to draw her into an alcove and—" She did not finish the thought. "Haiweth must learn to choose her dance partners more discriminatingly."

"Gúthwyn, I am warning you—" Cobryn began, also standing.

"Stop warning me!" Gúthwyn interrupted angrily. "It must be nice for you to be secure in the belief that nothing could possibly happen to her, but I have not that luxury. If Haiweth hates me for my interference…" She swallowed. "So be it. I would rather her loathe me than see any harm come to her."

"Your interference will only rob her of her independence," Cobryn retorted. "She is of the age where she will not appreciate your attempts to govern her social affairs. As I have said before, you are in danger of making her behave just like her brother—and then all will be lost."

"And what gives you the right to tell me how to raise my children?" Gúthwyn snarled, her fingers shaking so much that she could scarcely tie her cloak around her shoulders. "Nothing! You are not their father, you are not their guardian, and your attitude about this situation with Haiweth makes me question your judgment. You have no authority in this regard, and you would do well to remember it!"

With that, she stormed past Cobryn, just barely restraining herself from shouldering him on her way out of the room.

* * *

><p>"Damn Cobryn," she muttered to herself several minutes later, briskly walking through the seventh level of the White City. Upon learning that Hammel and Haiweth had left the Steward's House together, she had been forced to venture out in search of the children—for she was not going to sit idly by and allow Haiweth to be corrupted by Gondorian society. If Cobryn had a problem with that, then he was not the friend she had once thought him to be.<p>

Too furious to be alarmed by this particular turn in her musings, she rounded the Tower of Ecthelion and at last concluded that Hammel and Haiweth must have gone down to the lower levels. This only served to heighten her anxiety: who knew what sort of men they might encounter when they were so far away from their protectors? Hammel would certainly try to defend Haiweth, but he was hardly strong enough to fend off multiple attackers.

Her mind filled with horrible images of the children being cornered in a dark alley, Gúthwyn quickened her pace as she hurried down to the sixth level. Now, in broad daylight, it seemed silly that she had panicked so much inside the tunnel—the curve in the path was easily visible, and she was perfectly capable of navigating her way.

A thorough, if hasty, examination of the sixth level proved fruitless. It was not until she came to the fifth level that she had any luck; and even then, it was only by chance that she happened to glance at a bookshop the exact moment in which Hammel and Haiweth emerged from its confines. Neither of them noticed her, though the street was empty: they appeared to be engrossed in conversation.

_Thank the Valar,_ she thought, preparing to cross the street and accost Haiweth. Before she could take a single step in their direction, however, she was stopped by the sight of someone emerging from a nearby alley and rapidly bearing down upon the children. The man's back was to her, but she easily recognized the blue cape and the rings sparkling on his fingers.

As she stared, horror-struck, appalled by the brazenness of his behavior, Amrothos bent his head and spoke furtively to Hammel and Haiweth. The latter bit her lip, and looked to her brother for a response. Gúthwyn could not hear Hammel's reply, but his expression was irritated and he pointedly motioned for his sister to stand behind him.

Amrothos was persistent, vehemently gesticulating and evidently pleading for something. Gúthwyn began to draw closer, straining to hear what he was saying—yet it was difficult to listen when her blood was boiling and her heart was thumping angrily against her ribcage.

"I just need a word," Amrothos told Hammel urgently. "All you have to do is—"

"I said no," Hammel answered, his features cold with fury. "You have no right to try to use us like this. Have you lost all sense of decency?"

Haiweth faintly whispered something in his ear.

"I do not care if you are a prince," Hammel continued hotly; "I will not do as you have asked, and moreover I will not have you near my sister. Come, Haiweth, we should be going back."

"Wait," Amrothos hissed, lunging forward and grabbing Hammel by the arm. Haiweth gasped as Hammel tried to wrench away, but to no avail. Amrothos clung to him, ignoring Haiweth's terrified pleas for him to stop.

This was the last straw for Éomund's daughter. It was one thing for Amrothos to hunt her down and harass her—and it was a testament of how feeble she was that she rarely fought back. Witnessing him do the same to the children, however, enraged her so much that she could scarcely think straight.

Haiweth was the first to notice her approach; the girl's eyes widened like saucers, her hands flying to her mouth. It was the only warning Amrothos had before Gúthwyn grabbed him by the shoulder, wrenched him around, and slapped him square across the face.

"You _bastard_," she seethed as a red mark formed on his cheek. "How _dare_ you speak to them?"

"Gúthwyn, you must listen to me," Amrothos begged, clasping her arms in supplication. "I—"

"_Let go of me!_" Gúthwyn shrieked, pushing him away. Another _smack_ rent the air as she slapped him a second time. "I am _done_ with you, you disgusting animal! After all the damage you have caused, you want me to _listen_ to you? Why would I ever do that? What use do I have for your apologies, at best insincere, at worst a ploy to take advantage of me again?"

Amrothos opened his mouth to interject, but Gúthwyn barreled on. "Here I was, thinking you could sink no lower—and yet you go after my children, as if I were not victim enough! Let me guess, you were trying to manipulate them into passing along a message from you? You are truly pathetic."

"Gúthwyn, I am so sorry," Amrothos began beseechingly. "Please, I…"

For a moment, Éomund's daughter thought she caught a glimpse of genuine sincerity in his gaze. She assured herself that she had imagined it: she was being fooled by his unkempt hair and skeletal appearance.

"I am sorry, as well," she told him bitingly. "I am sorry that my friendship with Elphir was ruined, all because of the petty rumors you whispered in his ear and your disgraceful behavior on the last day of your visit." (She did not dare describe it in further detail—not when Hammel and Haiweth were standing there, slack-jawed, and observing them both in astonishment.) "I am sorry that you inflicted so much pain upon your own brother. I am sorry that you did not have the wisdom to question what you were told about me."

She stepped back, meaning to put some distance between herself and the odious man; but, before she had time to do so, Amrothos caught her by the hand and made to pull her back. "Please," he said, squeezing her palm in supplication.

Gúthwyn's last reserves of civility abruptly vanished. Yanking her arm out of his grasp, she drew her fist back—without ensuring that they were still alone on the street, indeed without caring—and punched Amrothos with all the strength she could muster.

The ensuing _crack_ made Haiweth gasp; Amrothos staggered backwards, futilely attempting to stem the flow of blood from his nose. It was clear from the expression on his face that he had not anticipated any form of resistance from Éomund's daughter.

Gúthwyn, however, was not done. "That was for what you did to Elphir," she said coldly, closing in on the despicable prince. "And this," she added, seizing him by the shoulders, "is for what you did to me."

Using her leverage, she delivered a merciless knee strike to Amrothos's groin. He howled in agony, abandoning his nose to clutch at his crotch. Seconds later, the pain became too great for him to bear: his legs gave out beneath him and he crumpled to the ground, moaning wildly. Gúthwyn watched him remorselessly.

"Come, children," she said after a moment, once she was satisfied with her revenge. "We should not linger."

"A-Are we just g-going to leave him here?" Haiweth asked as Éomund's daughter began to walk away. Hurrying to Gúthwyn's side, she added, "W-What if someone tries to… to rob him, or—" Her eyes anxiously darted back to Amrothos's prone form.

"I could not care less," Gúthwyn replied coolly.

"Good riddance," Hammel muttered in assent, causing Haiweth to throw him a surprised glance.

"What did he do to Elphir?" the girl questioned, bewildered. "What did he do to you, Gúthwyn?"

"He is one of the reasons why Elphir and I are no longer speaking," Gúthwyn answered.

"But what did he do?" Haiweth pressed. "Why does he want to apologize to you so much?"

"He does not want to apologize to me," Gúthwyn said quickly, lest Haiweth be fooled by a show of false regret. "Whatever he told you, he was lying."

"Then what did he do?" Haiweth persisted, her frustration visibly mounting.

"It was a long time ago," Gúthwyn said. "Suffice to say, both of you should avoid him. He will only try to use you to get to me."

"You never tell me anything," Haiweth bitterly complained.

"You are too young," Gúthwyn returned.

When Haiweth's retort of "I am fourteen!" was met with no response, she turned to Hammel. "Do _you_ know what Amrothos did?" she interrogated him. "You know everything!"

Hammel shook his head. Gúthwyn prayed that he remained ignorant of the circumstances that had led to the dissolution of both her marriage and her friendship with Elphir, though with Hammel one could never be certain.

"Come _on_, Hammel," Haiweth whined, glaring at both him and Éomund's daughter. "You two are always keeping secrets from me!" she huffed. "You both seem to have forgotten that I am not a child. I am sick of being excluded from everything!"

"Haiweth," Gúthwyn said sharply, silencing the girl. In a softer tone, she continued, "I am not doing this to torment you. I know it is hard for you to understand, but I have my reasons for not wanting you to be privy to this information. Do you think I merely seek to frustrate you? I have only your best interests at heart."

Haiweth was mollified, but perhaps not as much as Gúthwyn would have liked. Éomund's daughter swiftly resolved not to bring up the topic she had originally wanted to discuss—Haiweth socializing too freely with her peers—for fear of aggravating the already volatile conversation.

"Well," she said, sighing, "let us return to the Steward's House."


	67. Amrothos's Disease

**A/N: **Can I just say that my new goal is to get this updating schedule down to once every three weeks? Because it's honestly getting ridiculous at this point. I have no idea if I can manage that, because I'm going back to school in a few days, but I really need to get better at this whole posting in a timely fashion thing.

In other news, I have had no power (neither electricity nor water) for the past three days, which doesn't sound like a lot but it really is when you've taken it all for granted before. Yay, Hurricane Irene! It could be way worse, though; I'm not living in Vermont, for starters. If any of y'all were in Irene's path, I hope you're doing all right!

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Sixty-Seven<strong>

"Do not be afraid," Éowyn told Gúthwyn encouragingly. "I will be with you the entire time." Despite the fact that typical Gondorian procedure dictated that each party was to be questioned individually by the king and queen—at least until further course of action was decided upon—Éowyn had advocated fiercely on Gúthwyn's behalf and demanded that she be allowed to accompany her. Far from resisting, Aragorn had told her that she was more than welcome to be present at the time of interrogation.

Gúthwyn scarcely heard her sister's assurances, so nervous was she; her sweaty palms clenched and unclenched as she warily eyed the door to the chamber in which she was about to be interrogated by Aragorn. "What if he asks me about what happened in Rohan?" she demanded, her voice strangely high-pitched.

"You must tell him," Éowyn replied, though not unkindly. "You have nothing to lose, and everything to gain."

Gúthwyn was about to reply with something along the lines of _Easy for you to say,_ but Aragorn's voice resounded through the door before she had the chance to. "Come in," the king called.

"Go on," Éowyn whispered, when Gúthwyn hesitated.

Steeling her nerves, Gúthwyn grasped the door handle and slowly pushed it open. Her whole body was quivering, embarrassingly so, as she stepped inside the council chamber; when she smoothed out her dress, she feared that she was leaving sweat marks.

Aragorn and Arwen were sitting behind a large, barren table directly in the center of the small room. The former spoke first, addressing both sisters as they approached. "Thank you for taking the time to meet with us," he said, gesturing towards the chairs on the opposite side of the table. "Please, have a seat."

"Lady Gúthwyn," Arwen began once they were all settled, "I wanted first to apologize to you for the seating arrangements."

Gúthwyn blinked in surprise, having not expected anything of the sort to fall from the queen's lips. "I… What?" she stammered, too taken aback to speak coherently.

"Had I realized the distress it would cause you, I would never have placed you so near to Amrothos," Arwen elaborated, inclining her head. "I am sorry that you had such a miserable evening."

"It was not your fault," Gúthwyn murmured, although she could not quite conquer her internal sense of resentment. After all, it was for fear of ruining the ball that everyone—Éowyn, Imrahil, Legolas, Cobryn, even herself—had refrained from mentioning Amrothos's transgressions until it was too late.

"Before we begin," Aragorn said, speaking deliberately so that his words could not be misheard, "I must inform you that you will not be forced to answer any questions—but that your failure to do so may be construed as a sign of guilt or otherwise viewed with suspicion. I say this," he added, for Éowyn had furiously opened her mouth, "as part of standard procedure for all such cases."

"Do you understand what this means?" Arwen gently asked Éomund's youngest daughter.

_Of course I do; I am not a simpleton,_ Gúthwyn thought venomously. It meant that no scrap of dignity could be preserved, lest the king and queen believe that she was somehow responsible for what Amrothos had done to her. It meant that they would learn everything, and that she would be powerless to stop them from exposing her. It meant that she would have to grit her teeth and endure this humiliation, as she had done countless times before.

Aloud, she said only, "I understand."

"Would you like a moment to prepare yourself?" Arwen inquired.

Wondering why the queen was being so kind to her, Gúthwyn shook her head. "No, thank you," she replied. _Please, just get it over with._

"In that case, I would like to list the accusations that have been made against Prince Amrothos by Prince Faramir and Princess Éowyn on your behalf," Aragorn announced. There was no hint of friendliness in his voice, nor indeed any other emotion; his expression was inscrutable, giving no indication of where his sympathies lay. Looking at him, Gúthwyn felt quite young and extremely insignificant.

She reached out and clutched Éowyn's hand as Aragorn continued, "According to Faramir, Amrothos accosted you last night during the ball, pinned you against the wall of one of the alcoves, and touched your face—despite your pleas with him to stop."

Gúthwyn's face burned at the sterile tone in which her mortifying memories were being laid out for all to hear. Aragorn kept going. "According to Éowyn," he said, "Amrothos harassed you years ago during a visit to Rohan, the culmination of which was an attempt to force himself upon you. For that, Éomer has banished him from the Riddermark.

"Are these accounts accurate?"

Gúthwyn nodded, holding her breath for fear of Aragorn probing further. What if he asked why Amrothos had targeted her? What if he found out the truth behind her ruined marriage negotiations with Elphir, and—worse—decided to inform Elphir? She felt faint at the possibility.

Aragorn examined her for a moment, then added, "I have also had four other people come forth with evidence concerning Amrothos's behavior towards you."

Gúthwyn frowned, having no idea what he was talking about. Nor, judging by the expression on her face, did Éowyn.

"Prince Legolas, your friend Cobryn, and your healer Nestadan have all—separately—sought an audience with me, saying that after Amrothos was kicked out of the ball last night, he chased you down to the sixth level with the apparent intent of apologizing to you. He ignored your repeated statements that you wanted him to leave you alone, and was only deterred by Legolas's threats.

"I also had a visit today, not half an hour ago, from Hammel, who told me that Amrothos approached him and his sister this morning in the hopes of using them to communicate with you. He said that, upon catching him in the act, you struck him several times."

"As would, I think, any reasonable person in my situation," Gúthwyn replied testily.

"Then Legolas, Cobryn, Nestadan, and Hammel are all telling me the truth?" Aragorn inquired, still no emotion in his gaze. How he could appear so detached was beyond her.

"They are," Gúthwyn confirmed. In a quieter voice, she added, "Hammel never told me he that he was making a complaint." She had expected no less from Legolas, given his friendship with Aragorn, and she was not surprised to find out that Cobryn and Nestadan had done the same—but Hammel had said absolutely nothing of the matter, and apart from being irritated at Amrothos had not appeared to be affected by the incident.

"He was quite angry that Amrothos had accosted him and Haiweth—especially Haiweth—when his quarrel was with you," Arwen explained carefully.

"Quarrel?" Gúthwyn repeated, her eyes widening. "All I want is for him to stop harassing me!"

A brief silence followed her outburst, until Aragorn broke it by clearing his throat and asking, "Why has Amrothos been targeting you, given that you were once betrothed to his brother? As I recall, the negotiations ended sourly, but I still do not comprehend Amrothos's motives."

His voice held no hint of reprimand, but Gúthwyn's cheeks nevertheless flushed at the reminder of Imrahil's eldest son. "Amrothos used to call me a whore, but it is he who is the licentious one," she said angrily. "I do not doubt that, to him, I was at first simply another conquest. Perhaps my relation to a king, as well as the fact that my betrothal to Elphir ended badly, offered both a challenge and the opportunity for revenge. I cannot claim to know the inner workings of his mind, nor would I like to; but, if I had to take a guess, that would be it."

"He used to call you a whore?" Arwen repeated, her eyes wide with distaste.

"He is hardly the first," Gúthwyn answered bitterly. "Perhaps you are not aware, my lady"—she said wryly, though in truth she was struggling to maintain her composure—"but an unmarried woman who has the temerity to raise children on her own will be branded by the masses as 'promiscuous' (if indeed they are so polite), regardless of her actual conduct."

Arwen looked stunned; her eyes widened even further when her questioning glance at Aragorn earned a grim nod in response. "But that is ridiculous," she protested. "You mean to say that the entire time Hammel and Haiweth have been in your care, your own people have subjected you to such malicious gossip?"

"Not all of them," Gúthwyn hastened to correct the queen; "nor even most. However, my accusers are a very vocal minority. I cannot even begin to count the number of times I have been called a slut or a whore to my face, let alone behind my back." Her voice wavered as she spoke, betraying her nonchalant tone—for she could not pretend that she was unaffected by the epithets so frequently hurled at her.

"Then Amrothos must be disciplined all the more severely, for he has undoubtedly—and perhaps intentionally—helped secure your ill-wishers in their convictions," Arwen replied, her lips thinning. "I propose," she added, turning towards Aragorn, "that we do not delay our investigation in this matter, and that we call Prince Imrahil and his son here immediately. The longer this goes unresolved, the more harm I fear Amrothos will cause."

Despite the many reasons Gúthwyn had to resent the queen—envy perhaps being chief among them—she could not help but feel immensely gratified that Arwen evidently believed her, and her thanks in that moment were heartily given. She was slightly remiss in acknowledging Aragorn, however: for though he agreed to Arwen's proposal and sent a messenger to notify Prince Imrahil, she still could not discern his opinion and recoiled at the possibility of him siding with Amrothos.

As Imrahil would likely arrive soon, the meeting was adjourned; Éowyn and Gúthwyn rose to their feet, with Aragorn promising to send word when their presence was again required.

"See, baby sister?" Éowyn gently inquired as they exited the White Tower. "That was not so bad."

"Assuming Aragorn did not think I was lying," Gúthwyn replied glumly.

Éowyn's eyes widened. "Why would he think that?" she questioned, glancing curiously at the younger woman.

"He hardly showed any emotion during the entire ordeal," Gúthwyn complained, more disappointed than anything. "Not that I expected him to conduct the affair with a noticeable bias… Yet I would have liked some confirmation, one way or the other, about his leaning. It was bad enough having to relive—well, _that_—without being kept in the dark about whether or not he believed me."

"Perhaps he is simply reserving judgment until he speaks with Amrothos," Éowyn replied.

"'Reserving judgment?" Gúthwyn repeated, incredulous. "What excuse could there possibly be what Amrothos did to me?"

"It may be necessary to determine how much Amrothos's illness—for ill he clearly is—factored into his actions last night," Éowyn told her. "I, for one, noticed that he was sweating and trembling throughout the evening; he seemed scarcely aware of his surroundings. And the fact that he was pursuing you so doggedly, with such disregard for consequence, suggest that he was not in a right state of mind."

Although Gúthwyn was not so charitable as to think that Amrothos should be excused because of his sickness, and it quite bothered her that Éowyn and Aragorn might have a different perspective, she did have to wonder about Imrahil's youngest son. Even supposing he was sincere in his apology, what could he possibly have hoped to gain from it? He could not be under the delusion that she would forgive him, or that the evils he had committed would be righted. Moreover, she noticed that he had made no mention of apologizing to Elphir, though his elder brother had also been a victim of his machinations.

What, then, were Amrothos's intentions?

* * *

><p>"And you could not bring yourself to apologize to Lady Gúthwyn <em>after<em> you assaulted her—or, better yet, you were not sorry enough to refrain from molesting her in the first place?"

The question, directed furiously at Amrothos, came from neither the king or queen of Gondor but from Prince Imrahil. The ruler of Dol Amroth had just heard all the charges against his son, and was livid to discover the additional transgressions of the previous night. He had finally lost his temper upon learning that Amrothos's supposed purpose in all of this had been to make amends with Éomund's youngest daughter.

Arwen watched as Amrothos flushed, a dull red color spreading from the base of his neck to his hollow cheeks. He did not, however, answer his father.

"Even if the remorse came after," she said quietly, leaning forward so as better to get Amrothos's attention, "surely there would have been a way to apologize to Lady Gúthwyn without causing her so much distress?"

Amrothos stared down at his lap, unwilling to meet her eyes. There was a nervous tic in one of his jaw muscles.

"Have you nothing to say for yourself?" Imrahil barked after a moment of silence.

When Amrothos did not reply, Aragorn said coldly, "Will you deny that you harassed Lady Gúthwyn throughout your entire stay in her home? That you finally cornered her in her brother's stables, and kissed her and touched her against her will? Do you deny that, the very same evening, you attacked her a second time? Or that, upon encountering her at our ball last night, you dragged her into a secluded area and covered her body with yours?" Amrothos winced, but Aragorn kept going. "What of Prince Legolas and two civilians' claims that you chased her down once she left the ball, attempting to force an apology on her? Or of young Hammel's claim that you sought out him and his fourteen-year-old sister, hoping to use the children in your quest to attain an audience with Gúthwyn—do you deny any of this?"

Amrothos finally roused himself to speak, his dark eyes haunted and filled with regret. "No," he said heavily, "I do not deny it. I… I did all of those things to her."

Arwen wondered at the prince's wretchedness, at the way his voice broke as he talked. She did not think it was the result of his being caught, for his brazen behavior suggested that he had been operating without concern for the consequences. Nay, his shame felt genuine—yet why would he have treated Lady Gúthwyn so horribly in the first place? She hardly considered herself to be well-informed about the particulars of the Dol Amroth rumor mill, but she had not heard prior to this that Amrothos's womanizing ways had ever targeted unwilling participants. As far as she was aware, he had never stooped to this level before; why, then, was Lady Gúthwyn the exception?

"I do not understand," she said aloud, her gaze fixed on Amrothos. "You clearly regret what you have done. Nor have you previously assaulted a woman—correct?"

"One can only hope," Imrahil said severely.

"I have not," Amrothos retorted, glaring at his father.

"Then why Lady Gúthwyn?" Arwen inquired, her eyes narrowing. "Why would you target her?"

To that, Amrothos had no answer.

"Gúthwyn seems to think that you did it because you wanted revenge on her for hurting Elphir," Arwen pressed, more desirous of an explanation than ever. "Is this true?"

"Hurting Elphir?" Imrahil echoed dubiously. "Is that what we are to call my son believing the ill-founded rumors about her promiscuity and ending the betrothal? For that, as far as I can tell, was his only reason for doing so—indeed the only reason he could possibly have, because there was nothing objectionable about Lady Gúthwyn. She has more merit than any of the women who perpetuated such gossip about her."

"Then why, Amrothos?" Arwen questioned. "Were you, too, taken in by the lies about her? Or did you have another reason for harassing her?"

"Perhaps this will make things easier for you," Aragorn said gravely, when Amrothos—who was becoming increasingly flustered—made no response. "Although I cannot very well punish you for what you did in Rohan, for that is at King Éomer's discretion, I can and will punish you for what you have done in my city. Stalking and harassing an innocent woman will not be tolerated. If you have nothing to say in your defense, then you will be sentenced the next time we meet to discuss this matter."

"I have nothing to say," Amrothos replied woodenly.

"Then it is settled," Aragorn returned, his voice uncharacteristically harsh. "At some point in the near future, you will be summoned here to receive your punishment. In the meantime, I do not want to hear about your going anywhere near Lady Gúthwyn."

"Understood," Imrahil said tightly when Amrothos pressed his lips together. "Amrothos, come."

"My friend, I was hoping to speak to you—alone—for another moment," Aragorn interjected, exchanging a look with Arwen. The two of them had agreed to question Imrahil separately, hoping to gain some insight on the situation that Amrothos would almost certainly not provide.

Imrahil nodded, though not without a puzzled expression briefly crossing his face, and told Amrothos, "Wait outside. Do not wander."

Amrothos grunted and pushed his chair back, rising unsteadily to his feet. He stalked out of the chamber without a backwards glance, his footsteps echoing heavily throughout the room.

"My lord?" Imrahil asked when they were alone, his grey eyes shadowed with concern.

"I wanted to inquire about Amrothos's health, if you will permit it," Aragorn began cautiously.

As Imrahil's face clouded, Arwen added, "We could not help but notice that he still appears to be touched by illness. I hope you will not find us meddling when we say this, but we would be happy to recommend a healer if he desires."

Imrahil shook his head. "Many thanks, my lady," he told her, "but his malady is such that only he can cure it." At the royal couple's mystified expressions, he sighed and said, "You are aware that Amrothos has long had a drinking problem, I presume?"

"There have been rumors," Aragorn ventured tactfully.

"Alas, one public spectacle after another has ensured that I will never be able to quell such gossip," Imrahil responded sadly, "and indeed it is the truth."

"What made him start?" Arwen asked softly, saddened by the hopelessness in the ruler's voice.

"Out of all his siblings, Amrothos was the closest to his mother," Imrahil said, his words catching for a moment at the mention of his deceased wife. "He was never quite able to recover from her death, and shortly thereafter he started frequenting the city's taverns. I thought… I thought it was a phase. For a time I even indulged him, assuming that he would eventually have his fill of women and wine and finally start coming to terms with his grief."

Imrahil's eyes were downcast, shrouded in the memories of his failings—yet could they really be failings, when no parent wanted their child's mind to linger on death? Arwen listened, her heart filled with pity, as Imrahil admitted: "But that never happened, and as if overnight he became another person. He was no longer the serious, studious boy he had once been—he only desired to drink and sleep around, to make mischief with his friends. He started vomiting in public, blacking out in private. I tried… I tried to curtail his excesses by ordering the worst of the taverns and whorehouses not to serve him, limiting his allowance, and finally forbidding him from consuming alcohol at home. Yet he always found ways around my restrictions, until by the time we went to visit Rohan I was hiring men to follow him."

"Was he drunk when he assaulted Gúthwyn?" Aragorn asked softly.

"I do not doubt it," Imrahil replied, a hard, bitter edge to his voice. "However, I would not consider that a primary factor—for I had never heard report or rumor of such disgrace before, nor have I since."

"Had he been drinking today?" Arwen inquired, recalling the way Amrothos had fidgeted and sweated throughout the interrogation.

"Nay, to my knowledge he has not had a drink in over a month," Imrahil told her. "After we returned from Rohan, I told him that he had to break his habit, that I would no longer tolerate anything less than the utmost sobriety. I doubled my watch on him, and finally extended my serving ban to all the taverns in the city—as well as several pubs in nearby towns. The owners feared that I would make good on my threats to shut them out of business if they so much as gave him saltwater, and they started turning him away.

"I thought, at worse, that he would feel as if he were hungover for a week. That the headaches, the inability to concentrate, the nausea… that they would eventually go away. They only got worse. He started having nightmares, waking us all up in the middle of the night with his screams—nothing that we could ever understand. He stopped wanting to leave the palace; then, he stopped wanting to leave his room. He could barely bring himself to get out of bed. A succession of healers tried, some more valiantly than others, but all eventually declared that there was nothing they could do."

"A disease of the mind, not of the body," Aragorn surmised quietly.

Imrahil nodded. "It took months to ebb away—and, to be honest, I suspect that he found the means to obtain alcohol from his friends without my knowledge. He remained unable to imbibe as frequently as he had before, I believe, but the fact that nearly all of his physical symptoms vanished quite abruptly is suspicious."

"What of his depression?" Arwen inquired, her brow furrowing as she recalled how wretched Amrothos had looked throughout the interrogation. "Has that lingered?"

"Concealed better, perhaps, with his improvement in condition, but I worry that it has not gone away entirely," Imrahil answered. "He has also been deteriorating the past couple of weeks, for I watched him closely on the way here and kept him within my sight once we reached Minas Tirith—excepting the recent fiascos with Gúthwyn, unfortunately—and he has not had the opportunity to drink anything other than water."

"I am grieved to learn of your misfortunes," Aragorn said, his face lined with concern. "Are you certain that you do not wish to try one of our healers? Perhaps they might have alternate remedies which have not yet been considered."

Imrahil shook his head. "I am convinced," replied he, "that neither herb nor potion, nor indeed anything that might be called 'medicine,' will aid him. He has the support of his family, but there is nothing we can do for him until he decides to help himself."

Neither Aragorn nor Arwen chose to press him; they could tell that the man was resigned, that his hopes had been raised and shattered too many times for him to put faith in another healer. Arwen, for her part, was inclined to agree with the prince: Amrothos's illness did not seem like the type that a simple concoction would cure.

"Thank you, my lord, for confiding in us," she said to him, "though I fear the telling has caused you pain."

"No more than what I have already suffered," Imrahil responded, grimacing. "Is there anything else that I might be able to assist you with?"

Aragorn glanced at Arwen; at a look from her, he shook his head. "Nay," he replied, "we have heard all that we need to. We will send word when we have decided upon a verdict."

As one, the three of them rose to their feet. "Thank you," Imrahil said, bowing. "I am sorry that my son has caused so much trouble."

"There is no need to apologize," Aragorn assured him. "We do not blame you for your Amrothos's transgressions. Nor, I am certain, does Lady Gúthwyn."

Imrahil smiled sadly. "She is, perhaps, too forgiving," he remarked; and, before Aragorn or Arwen could contradict him, he turned around and walked slowly out of the chamber.


	68. A Suitable Punishment

**A/N:** Um, so, just giving y'all the heads-up: I was in a bit of a Jane Austen phase while I wrote this... ;)

**A/N #2:** Sorry for this accidentally being posted in Alone! I asked my roommate to do it because I didn't have access to the internet and would have otherwise been incapable of updating, and she must have picked the wrong story to update. Not that I blame her, though, considering how many Rohan Pride stories there were to choose from! =P

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><p><strong>Chapter Sixty-Eight<strong>

After Prince Imrahil had left, Arwen looked at her husband and said, "Something in these accounts does not add up."

Aragorn nodded in agreement. "While Amrothos has a rather colorful reputation," he mused, "I did not perceive him as the kind of man who would force himself on a women. That he assaulted Gúthwyn, and given his recent behavior… I have a feeling that he, and perhaps she, only told us part of the story."

"Yet no one is disputing the chain of events, and for that Amrothos must be dealt with," Arwen grimly replied, hard-put to conceal her disgust at the nature of the prince's crimes. When she thought of all the anguish Gúthwyn must have suffered… She could scarcely comprehend what the poor woman was going through.

"I think I will postpone our next meeting until tomorrow," Aragorn declared, sighing. "Not only do I believe that a second session today would place undue stress upon Gúthwyn, but I am also at a loss as to how Amrothos should be punished."

"You wish to avoid the public becoming aware of this, I presume," Arwen said softly, guessing the nature of his dilemma.

"It will not benefit Gúthwyn in any way," Aragorn agreed, "for her sufferings to become fodder for malicious gossip. I suspect that, even if we were to declare our support for her, plenty would still believe her to be at fault. Thus, I must rule out prison. Nor can I treat it as I would a rape case," he added, "because she was not raped; moreover, I am not particularly fond of the traditional fine paid to the victim's family, for it is grossly inadequate recompense."

"Well, the decision does not have to be made for another day," Arwen reminded him.

Aragorn was not comforted. "I fear that, if I do not impose a strict enough penalty, Amrothos will not be deterred from his pursuit of Lady Gúthwyn."

Arwen nodded sympathetically. "That poor woman," she murmured. Aragorn had told her, long ago, that King Éomer's youngest sister had been captured when she was but a child and sold into slavery—first at Isengard, then in the Black Land itself. The queen of Gondor could only imagine what sort of horrors Éomund's daughter had experienced there, in the dominions of Saruman and Sauron; ever and anon, she caught glimpses of the nightmares behind Gúthwyn's sunken gaze. Those years in captivity had left their mark on her, the ghosts of her past tenacious. Arwen could see it in the way she moved, the way she spoke, the way her eyes became slightly unfocused when she was dragged back into her memories.

"I am glad that her family supports her," Aragorn commented, aware of the direction in which Arwen's thoughts had gone, "but they cannot do everything for her, gladly though they would. She will have to face the worst parts of her recovery alone."

"I do not think she wants to be alone," Arwen mused, remembering all the times she had noticed Gúthwyn staring at her in a mixture of jealousy and melancholy. Despite Éowyn and Éomer's resigned assurances to the contrary, Arwen had a feeling that their younger sibling did not delight in her single state as much as she may have claimed. Judging by the nature of her wistful looks at other couples, Arwen guessed that Gúthwyn had loved before—and that she might be willing to do so again, were she able to find the right person and make peace with the memories of the first.

As for the right person… Arwen frowned thoughtfully. There was, in fact, someone she would keep an eye on.

* * *

><p>Gúthwyn had barely returned to the Steward's House before she left it again, unable to remain inside when she felt so suffocated by her recollections of Amrothos's attacks. She walked briskly to the outer wall of the seventh level, not at all calmed by her proximity to the East. Ever since her arrival, she had tried to ignore the still-ominous shadow of the Ephel Dúath—but now, in a bid for fresh air, she found herself confronted by the dark mountains that were so dangerously close to Minas Tirith.<p>

"Perhaps you would find the view better, if you turned to the north."

Surprised, Gúthwyn gave a soft gasp; but the voice was comfortingly familiar, and there was a smile on her face as she swiveled around to greet Legolas.

"It is a shame," she said, nodding in the direction of her past, "that the Gondorians must suffer this sight. But for it, Minas Tirith would be a better city."

Legolas leaned against the parapet, his steady gaze examining the forbidding mountain range. "It will be long before the gloom is lifted," he agreed, "yet something tells me that you would not prefer Minas Tirith even if it were as far west as the Sea."

"There is no place, in my heart, that can compete with Rohan," Gúthwyn asserted proudly. "I would trade all of this stone-walled civilization in an instant for the open fields and thatched roofs of my home."

"What of the forest?" Legolas inquired mildly.

"The forest?" Gúthwyn repeated, her thoughts lingering on Éomer and Elfwine.

"Emyn Arnen, where your sister now dwells," Legolas elaborated. "I thought I once heard you say that you find it beautiful, as well."

Gúthwyn shrugged—for, now that she was away from the bewitching foliage of Ithilien, it was easy to dismiss its charms. "I mean no insult to your home," she hastened to assure him, "yet while I will not take back my claim of Ithilien being 'beautiful,' I cannot but long for Rohan. I believe I told you, a long time ago, that I would be content to live out the rest of my years in Rohan and never venture beyond its borders; the same is true now."

Legolas gave a gentle smile. "I understand," he replied simply.

A silence fell between them, in which Gúthwyn's thoughts returned to her conference with Aragorn and Arwen. Unknowingly, the king had brought to ruin her plans of departing from Minas Tirith that same day; she could not very well leave before she was summoned for the next meeting. This one was certain to be worse than the last, for Amrothos would also be there.

Her shiver of unease did not go unnoticed by Legolas, who guessed the source of her discontent and asked, "Did you see Aragorn?"

Gúthwyn nodded, and, after a slight hesitation, she relayed to Legolas the general gist of how it had gone. "I almost wish that it had never been brought to their attention," she lamented when she finished, "for I cannot imagine what punishment could possibly spare me public ridicule—and now I will have to see Amrothos again, perhaps even today."

"What sort of punishment would you wish for him?" Legolas inquired, looking at her curiously.

Gúthwyn sighed in frustration, hardly knowing the answer herself. What good would prison do if everyone in Minas Tirith and Dol Amroth found out? "All I want," she ground out, "is for him to leave me alone. If I never have to see him again for the rest of my life, it will be too soon."

"Even if that were the extent of his sentence?" Legolas pressed, surprised.

"If there is indeed no way of disciplining him privately," Gúthwyn replied, "then so be it, as long as I never have to be in the same room as him again. Nay, the same city."

"Perhaps, then, that is the course of action that Aragorn will take," Legolas suggested optimistically.

Gúthwyn shrugged uncertainly. "His thoughts likely have not turned in that direction," she answered gloomily.

Legolas straightened out and pushed away from the wall. "Unfortunately, I have some errands that cannot be delayed," he said in response to her questioning look. "But I would not lose hope. Aragorn is a wise man, and it is possible that he will come to such a conclusion on his own."

With that, he bade her farewell and began walking towards the courtyard. Gúthwyn did not dare watch his progress, for fear of him glancing back and catching her in the act, but inwardly she wondered if she had said something to offend him. He had departed so abruptly…

She ran over everything she had said, but she believed nothing to have been inappropriate—yet, perhaps… Her cheeks colored. Now she was certain of folly on her part. She had not apologized sufficiently for her dismissal of the forest; nay, she should not have spoken at all. How smugly she had boasted of Rohan's superiority! Which, to be fair, she was quite secure in; but, nevertheless, she ought to have been more considerate of Legolas. She could no longer remain taken aback by his sudden exit from the conversation. Rather, the fact that he had so courteously maintained their discourse was something to be marveled at.

Her mortification reached untold heights. She turned back to the White Tower, hoping for some indicator of where Legolas had gone—but, of course, he had vanished without a trace. Her desire to apologize to him would be unsatisfied until they next met.

Yet her humiliation, strongly felt though it was, was not enough to distract her completely from the matter of Amrothos. Soon her thoughts returned to darker memories, and a chill seemed to rise from the East and seep into her very bones.

* * *

><p>Aragorn did not summon her until the next day, and in the meantime Gúthwyn could not be convinced to leave the Steward's House. Every plea of her sister was rejected. So long as there remained the slightest possibility of her running into Amrothos, she would prefer to wallow in boredom—even contemplate reading a book!—until he was sentenced. In response to Faramir pointing out that he would be under Imrahil's ceaseless supervision, she replied merely, "He has already proven himself more than capable of evading his father's oversight."<p>

The morning passed in displeasure. By the simple act of Cobryn remarking that he had caught her examining the spines on her previously neglected bookshelf, and Gúthwyn replying that she must have already died of boredom, their feud from the previous day was over; but it was a truce uneasy in the knowledge that Haiweth's adolescence would not fade away so swiftly.

The girl in question was blissfully unaware of the anguish she was causing her caretakers, for her mind had room for only one subject: the ball. She excessively recounted her experience to her brother, who often commented that it seemed they had been to two completely separate events; but, as always, Haiweth ignored him and continued informing him about her dozens of new acquaintances. Faramir, who was in the library at the time, observed that she knew her brother well enough to tailor her narration to his liking: there was a fair amount of ridicule concerning the dancers' finery, which the Steward believed did not match her true feelings in the slightest, and no mention was made of any dances with boys.

When at last Haiweth had worn out her welcome, she retired to her room with the intention of drawing as many gowns as she could remember from the ball. Hammel could now finish his book and compose a letter, which Faramir noticed he purposefully left unaddressed. In fact, he often appeared to shift his body in such a way as to block the contents from view, though it would have been impossible for the Steward to read across the distance from the boy's chair to his own.

At precisely noon, a messenger came with summons from the White Tower. This time, Faramir accompanied Gúthwyn and Éowyn.

"Amrothos will not be allowed to speak to you," Éowyn said reassuringly on the way there.

Gúthwyn bit back her first response, which would have been _As if that has ever stopped him before_, and settled for the less scathing, "Yet that will not prevent him from staring at me."

Éowyn had nothing to say to that, and the rest of the walk was undertaken in silence. Upon arriving at the Tower of Ecthelion, they were directed to a chamber larger and more forbidding than the one Gúthwyn had been interrogated in. With high stone ceilings, only a thin slit of a window, and echoing walls, it was not a place Gúthwyn ever wanted to spend much time in.

Worse than the décor was the company. Gúthwyn's heart hammered in her chest when she saw Amrothos, slumped beside his father at one of the tables. His dark eyes met hers, momentarily freezing her with terror. Éowyn had to gently nudge her to get her to start moving again. Mercifully, there was more than one table—she made a beeline for the chair furthest away from the young prince.

All in all, it was a terse few minutes. Neither party spoke to the other, save for Imrahil greeting them and Faramir returning the sentiment. Aragorn and Arwen mercifully arrived not long after, apologizing for a council session that had run overtime.

Gúthwyn glanced up from the table, which she had been staring at in order to avoid Amrothos's gaze, and watched as the king and queen took their seats at a long, narrow table facing the others.

"Thank you all for coming," Arwen said, smiling sympathetically at Gúthwyn. "We know that this has not been easy for anyone, and we promise that we will not keep you long."

"In light of the testimony we have received from both parties, as well as a number of witnesses," Aragorn continued, his eyes fixing first on Gúthwyn and then on Amrothos, "we have decided upon what we deem to be the most appropriate punishment for Amrothos."

Gúthwyn felt a thick gloom settle over her. Whatever his sentence was, she could only imagine that it would be something egregiously public. If the citizens of Minas Tirith did not already think she was a slut, very soon they would become Amrothos's fervent defenders. She could only imagine what they would say. "How could it be the prince's fault, when she had seduced him? She had two children, after all; her scruples could not be trusted. _He_ was the victim."

"Prince Amrothos," Aragorn said, making her start upright, "you are hereby forbidden from ever knowingly being in the same town as Lady Gúthwyn, a restriction which extends throughout all the lands part of or allied to the kingdom of Gondor—excepting your father's realm. Should you unwittingly travel to the same city as her, you will keep yourself out of her sight and make arrangements to leave as soon as possible. You are not to contact her in any way, whether it be by letter or messenger; nor can you speak to anyone in her household, especially Hammel or Haiweth, in an effort to communicate with her. Should you defy this decree, you will be thrown in jail for one year for the first offense, with an extra year being added for every subsequent violation."

As Gúthwyn listened, her heart grew lighter and lighter until she thought that she might float out of her seat. Amrothos banned from ever seeing her again—the affair kept entirely out of public knowledge—everything was as Legolas had predicted.

"Do you understand the significance of this sentence?" Arwen inquired, watching Amrothos keenly.

Gúthwyn braced herself to hear him speak, but instead the prince merely nodded. His features were ashen, his body trembling. At his side, Imrahil frowned but said nothing.

"Then it is settled," Aragorn declared. "May this be our final meeting on the matter."

Imrahil and Amrothos did not linger; they departed quickly, Imrahil staying just long enough to nod at both Aragorn and Faramir. Gúthwyn and Éowyn, meanwhile, approached the royal couple to give their thanks.

"I am very much indebted to you both," Gúthwyn said breathlessly, scarcely able to conceive her good fortune. The prospect of spending her entire life without Amrothos being able to trouble her, lest he be thrown in jail! "I could not have hoped—a thousand thanks…"

"Do not thank us," Arwen bade her kindly. "For we were not the ones who devised this punishment."

Gúthwyn and Éowyn glanced at each other in bewilderment, then turned their confused looks to Aragorn and Arwen.

"We had a visit from Legolas yesterday afternoon," Aragorn explained.

Éowyn's eyebrows rose so high as to almost disappear beneath her hair; but Gúthwyn still did not understand, and she gazed questioningly at the king.

"He was the one," Arwen said, "who proposed the idea in the first place. He ardently believed that it was the solution you would be most amenable to, as it would protect you from both Amrothos and any public scrutiny."

Gúthwyn felt her eyes widen in amazement. Legolas had been behind this miracle? This gift, beyond all expectation, of a life free from her attacker? "I-I was u-unaware," she stammered, her pulse hammering against the walls of her throat; "I-I must thank him… I-I did n-not realize…" She was almost too stunned to speak. He must have—he had to have—acted upon their conversation from the day before. Even after she had been so dismissive of his home!

So tumultuous were her thoughts that she scarcely recalled taking leave of Aragorn and Arwen, and it came as a surprise to her when she realized that she, Éowyn, and Faramir were walking down the corridor alone.

After being informed of what Legolas had done, Faramir remarked, "That was quite kind of him to advocate on your behalf."

Gúthwyn nodded in agreement, hardly able to comprehend it herself.

Éowyn glanced keenly at her. "It seems as if he is looking out for you, baby sister."

The meaningful undercurrent in her speech was unmistakable; Gúthwyn stiffened when she detected it. "Or, rather, he is getting tired of constantly rescuing me from Amrothos," she replied with a forced laugh, hoping to gloss over the troublesome moment. "Hopefully, he will not have to anymore."

Éowyn, mercifully, did not press the subject; but now Gúthwyn could think of nothing else but Legolas's kindness, and how little she had done to deserve it. Given the way she had once treated him, he had no reason to help her—yet again and again, he had gone out of his way to ensure her comfort. Why? Why was he doing it?

Whatever the explanation, she continued to doubt Éowyn's claim of partiality. He was not treating her specially; he was solicitous by nature, as she had seen on more than one occasion. Had he not, after all, carved a wooden horse for Elfwine, and spent countless hours regaling the child with stories? Had he not taken his people to hunt for her brother during the Dol Amroth visit, so that Rohan might bear the burden of hosting a little easier? It was obviously not for her sake that he had done these things. Nay, Éowyn was wrong.

Gúthwyn thought about speaking to her sister and asking her to desist with such insinuations, but a glance at her sister's burgeoning stomach made her reconsider. Who was she to pick a fight with the White Lady at this time? Not only was it in poor taste, but the stress might harm the baby—and that, Éomund's youngest daughter would not allow.

_Besides_, she told herself, feeling rather ashamed, _she has been generous enough to host you and the children. You should not repay such benevolence with rudeness._

Thus, having properly censured herself, she took a deep breath and asked Éowyn, "Were you still planning on seeing Nestadan today?"

"I was," Éowyn affirmed. "Just for the usual herbs, of course, nothing serious."

"Might I accompany you?" Gúthwyn inquired, determined to aid her sister in whatever way she could.

"Of course!" Éowyn replied, looking surprised that she had asked. "I was going to head over shortly."

Gúthwyn nodded cheerfully, glad that she would have some alone time with her sister—for she knew that Faramir had some dreadfully boring report or other to compose. Although she had been to the healer's home just yesterday, to return his cloak and assure him that she had quite recovered from her ordeal (she had a feeling that he had not believed her), she looked forward to the errand.

All the better to forget what Éowyn's comment about Legolas had implied.


	69. The Queen's Offer

**Chapter Sixty-Nine**

The next day, Gúthwyn heard the news: Prince Imrahil and his son had departed that very morning, leaving Minas Tirith to return to their home by the Sea. No one seemed to find this strange. There was talk of pressing business in Dol Amroth, and none of the Gondorians appeared to connect the event with Éomund's youngest daughter.

Gúthwyn's plans of seeking refuge in Emyn Arnen were now brought to ruin; but she could not find their dissolution disagreeable, not when Minas Tirith was wonderfully Amrothos-free. And, as a result, her mission of the day was to find Legolas and thank him for his role in determining Amrothos's punishment.

She had not had the opportunity to do so yesterday, for Legolas had dined that evening with his traveling companions; but she was bent on rectifying this before the afternoon's end. Unfortunately, however, she did not know where he was staying. Nor did she have Éowyn or Faramir to ask: they had gone for a walk through the city, leaving her alone in the Steward's House. Thus she donned her thickest cloak and, braving the chilly air, went to find the Elven prince.

Hardly had she set out when she achieved her goal: she found Legolas sitting outside the King's House, carving something that was still closer to a block of wood than a completed object. He heard her approach before she had gotten within ten yards of him, and glanced up with a smile on his face.

"Good afternoon," he bade her as she drew closer, getting to his feet.

"Thank you—I mean, good afternoon, but—you need not rise on my account," Gúthwyn hastened to tell him, blushing. She was not yet accustomed to the respect owed to a woman of her status, perhaps because it was so rarely given; and she certainly did not find it necessary from the few who did offer it.

Legolas chuckled at her words. "How could I have forgotten?" he teased her gently. "I should have remembered that I was standing for a woman who disdains such ceremony."

"Oh, no, I never meant—" Gúthwyn began, lest he think her ungrateful; but then she realized that he was not serious, and laughed in spite of herself.

"Since I cannot stand," Legolas said, a grin lighting up his features, "will you sit with me instead?" He gestured towards the bench, where his carving knife still lay.

Gúthwyn hesitated—the bench was a bit small for her liking—but she had no reason to refuse and, since her original purpose in seeking him out had been to thank him, she really had no choice. With a nod, she consented.

"So, what brings you this way?" Legolas inquired once they were settled. Rather than resume his carving, he slipped the knife back into its sheath and set the block by his side.

"I actually came here… to thank you," Gúthwyn admitted. "And…" She flushed, recalling the last conversation they had had. "And to apologize."

"What for?" Legolas asked, looking surprised.

"I wanted to thank you for what you said to Aragorn," Gúthwyn began, for it was easier than starting with the apology. "I suppose… I suppose you know how the meeting with Imrahil and Amrothos went?" She glanced at him, hoping that he did. Much to her relief, he nodded. "Aragorn told me that you were the one who suggested Amrothos's punishment—and I cannot thank you enough, now that I will never have to see him again."

"Please, do not thank me," Legolas replied earnestly. "It is only what any friend would do."

"I will persist in thanking you," Gúthwyn responded firmly, determined not to let him off the hook so easily. "I also wanted to apologize," she added, come now to the hard part, "for my comments the other day regarding the forest."

"Your comments?" Legolas echoed, narrowing his eyes in bewilderment.

"What I said about… preferring Rohan to the woods," Gúthwyn anxiously explained. "I noticed… I noticed that you took your leave shortly after. I-I am so sorry; I should not have spoken…"

Legolas was quiet for a moment, his brow still furrowed in confusion; then, to her astonishment, he smiled. "Gúthwyn," he began, "I did not leave the conversation because I was offended."

"Y-You did not?" Éomund's daughter stammered.

"Not at all," Legolas assured her, now grinning. "Do you remember what we spoke of after?"

Gúthwyn racked her memory, now afraid that she had said something else that might have angered him, but she could think of nothing.

"We were talking about Amrothos," Legolas reminded her, "and you expressed concern about the punishment he would receive. When I found out what you truly desired, I thought it best if I relayed your preference to Aragorn as quickly as possible. I was not at all upset about the earlier part of our discussion."

"Oh!" Gúthwyn replied, now feeling excessively foolish for not having connected the dots herself. "I-I am so sorry… I did not realize… W-Well, thank you…" Her cheeks were on fire.

"Say nothing of it," Legolas answered adamantly.

Gúthwyn had not thought that her cheeks could grow any hotter, but they did; and, moreover, Legolas clearly noticed. Casting quickly around for a distraction, she glanced at the block of wood in the prince's hands and asked, "What are you carving?"

"You tell me," Legolas replied, smiling. "It is for Elfwine."

"Oh, no—" Gúthwyn gaped at him in dismay. "Legolas, you are spoiling him!" Thanks to Legolas, Elfwine's toy cavalry had been supplemented by a contingent of Elven warriors. The little prince delighted in these additions, referring to them as "Leggy and his friends."

"I am certainly still second in that regard to his aunt," Legolas remarked with a grin.

Gúthwyn had a fleeting impulse to nudge him, as she would have had she been talking to Cobryn. She restrained herself, however, and replied, "I at least have an excuse. He is my nephew, after all."

"Alas, my only excuse is that I have no children of my own to spoil," Legolas answered cheerfully.

"Does that not bother you?" Gúthwyn asked before she could stop herself.

"Bother me?" Legolas repeated, looking closely at her.

"I-I am sorry," Gúthwyn breathed, mortified by her impropriety. "I should not… I should not have been so forward…"

"I do not think it is quite a concern to me as it might be, were I mortal," Legolas responded thoughtfully, waving away her apology. "I do, after all, have significantly more time than humans to wed another and produce offspring."

Gúthwyn smiled sadly. At twenty-eight, she had perhaps seven years left to bear children. Seven years in which to magically accept the reality of marriage duties, fall in love with a man who returned her feelings, and become pregnant. Seven years… It was close to a decade, but not nearly long enough.

"It must be nice to have such leisure," she mused, sighing.

"You feel that you do not?" Legolas asked quietly.

"Not if I want children," Gúthwyn replied, unable to conceal the bitterness in her voice. "If it were simply a matter of marrying, then I could do that whenever I wanted." Or not at all, she thought, for without children the attractions of such a union were few and far between.

When Legolas next spoke, his words were soft and hesitant. "For as long as I have known you," he began, "you have desired children and yet rejected marriage."

"That is true," Gúthwyn whispered, attempting a wavering smile.

"Yet now your thoughts…" Legolas trailed off and seemed to reconsider what he was saying. "Forgive me," he finally spoke. "It is not my place."

Gúthwyn did not respond; she had been waiting with bated breath for Legolas to guess at where her thoughts now lay, for she scarcely knew herself. Would she, as time ran out, succumb to desperation and choose marriage? How deep was her longing for children of her own—deep enough to contemplate enduring a man's embrace, something which she had sworn never to do again? She was now starting to feel trapped, though in truth she always had been.

"Gúthwyn?"

Slowly, Éomund's daughter lifted her gaze. Looking into Legolas's unsettlingly deep eyes, she admitted, "I do not know what I want anymore. And I have less time than ever before to figure it out." That was the painful crux of her existence: she was but mortal, and her ability to conceive would soon be extinguished—with enough years left to watch in remorse and grief as her siblings' children grew up, her own never to join them.

She had not realized that she was crying until the first tears slid down her cheeks. Embarrassed, she wiped her face; but Legolas had seen them, and the streaks would remain in spite of her best efforts.

He must have known that there was little he could say, for all he did was put a gentle hand on her arm and tell her, "You still have time. Do not despair."

Gúthwyn did not have the heart to tell him that he was being overly optimistic. If she had not the slightest attraction to any man at present, how could she be sure that such a man would come along in the future? And, even if he did—if she were to meet someone who was agreeable, immune to the gossip about her, and kind to the children—who was to say that he would love her in return? She had perhaps only a year or two to find him, whoever he was, if she wanted to have any chance of getting pregnant.

Then there was the problem of the conception itself…

"Are you all right?" Legolas asked. The mild pressure on her arm increased very slightly. "You look pale."

"I am fine," Gúthwyn replied unconvincingly. Gesturing towards the wooden block in Legolas's hands, she said, "I believe that Elfwine does not yet have a standard bearer for his cavalry."

"Then he shall when next we meet," Legolas answered lightly. "In the meantime, would you like to go on a walk?"

Gúthwyn deliberated only a moment before accepting. "O-Of course," she answered, reasoning that they would be in public the entire time. "I-I would love to."

And off they went, neither of them aware of the Elf who had been watching them coldly through a window in the King's House.

* * *

><p>Trelan was examining the fletching on his arrows when, with a sudden force that would have made him jump had he been caught wholly off guard, the door slammed open and Raniean stormed into their quarters. "The fool," he glowered by way of greeting. "The hopeless, wretched, Man-loving fool!"<p>

"Hello to you, too, my friend," Trelan replied, his casual tone belying his sudden unease. "To whom do we owe this latest tirade of yours?"

Raniean glowered at him. "He was sitting with that—that creature again just now, right in—"

"Raniean," Trelan interjected sharply. "Say what you will about Legolas's attachment to her, but kindly refrain from likening Lady Gúthwyn to an animal."

"Indeed, she and her kind are worse," Raniean snarled, beginning to pace furiously around the room. Trelan sighed and stared at the arrow in his hands; he did not like this side of his friend, not when it brought out so much hatred in him. "You should have seen him, Trelan. Comforting her about her dwindling window of time for breeding—no loss, in my opinion—putting his hand on her bony arm, promising to carve a toy for that grating nephew of hers—"

"Raniean, enough!" Trelan retorted, at his wit's end. "Either tell me what happened without the insults, or do not tell me at all."

He might have found himself in need of a healer, had Raniean's look the power to maim or kill; yet he held firm and gazed resolutely at his friend. Raniean stared just as heatedly back, but eventually he realized that Trelan could not be swayed. Reluctantly, he relented.

"You say he was sitting with her?" Trelan then prompted him.

"Yes," Raniean confirmed tersely. "In full public view. His idiotic infatuation with her grows bolder by the day."

Trelan frowned, perturbed in spite of himself. Though his qualms about the situation were by no means as pronounced as Raniean's, they were qualms nevertheless. He feared that Legolas was teetering on the point of no return, that unless he were separated from Lady Gúthwyn immediately he would be lost forever. Perhaps it was already too late.

"A mortal," Raniean seethed through gritted teeth. "He would give his heart to a mere mortal."

If this were indeed to happen, Trelan thought, Legolas would be in for a lifetime of grief and misery. A hundred years from now—nay, even less than that—Lady Gúthwyn would be but a memory, her soul departed to the Halls of Mandos. Once there she would be sundered from Legolas forever, until the end of Arda itself. It was not a union that would end happily.

"Did she return his affections?" he asked Raniean slowly.

"She did not pull away when he touched her," Raniean reported grimly; "but no, I do not believe that she shares his feelings."

"Then Legolas must be aware of this, and he will temper his treatment of her accordingly," Trelan said, trusting the prince's judgment.

"If this is to be called 'tempering,'" Raniean barked, "I would hate to see what would happen if he abandoned restraint! I have not yet heard any gossip about them—those dimwitted humans insist on accusing her of consorting with every mortal in the kingdom—but the rumors will start soon if something is not done."

"Are you proposing that we intervene?" Trelan inquired, wondering if he wanted to know the answer.

"As a matter of fact, I am," Raniean declared. "I think," he said quietly, "that it is time King Thranduil saw for himself the kind of danger his son is in."

"That cannot end well," Trelan warned, imagining what Thranduil's reaction would have been had he witnessed the scene described by Raniean.

A cold grin made Raniean's features look even icier than usual. "Precisely," he said.

* * *

><p>The end of the trip to Minas Tirith had arrived, and that morning found Gúthwyn hastily attending to some last-minute packing. All things considered, she was quite glad to be leaving the city. Though, miraculously, there had not been nearly as much gossip about herself and Amrothos as she had feared, there had still been mutterings. Moreover, Haiweth's new collection of friends—several of which were male—had been cause for much anxiety. The sooner Haiweth was sundered from the temptations of the White City, the better.<p>

A soft knock on the door drew her from her troubled ruminations. Assuming it was Cobryn checking in on her, Gúthwyn called, "Come in."

When the door opened, however, she was astonished to see that her visitor was none other than Queen Arwen.

"My lady," Éomund's daughter said in breathless alarm, immediately sinking into a rather poor curtsy. "A-Are you seeking Éowyn? She left not five minutes ago to visit N—the healer."

"Actually, there was something I was hoping to discuss with you," Arwen replied, smiling gently. "I do not have much time, so I cannot stay long, but might I request an brief audience?"

Gúthwyn's agitation increased—what could Arwen possibly want with her? "O-Of course," she stammered. "P-Please, sit." What was one supposed to do when they were visited by a queen? Should she offer Arwen something to drink? Something to eat?

Before she could say anything, however, Arwen had selected a chair and was speaking to her. "How has the rest of your stay been?" the Elf inquired.

Gúthwyn hesitated, then lowered herself into her desk chair. "It has been excellent, my lady, thank you."

"Please, call me Arwen," the queen bade her.

Gúthwyn obediently nodded, though she had no intentions of addressing the Elf so familiarly.

"I hope your visit was not ruined by what happened with Amrothos," Arwen ventured, her keen eyes scrutinizing Éomund's daughter.

Uncomfortable beneath the queen's sharp gaze, Gúthwyn averted her eyes as she replied, "Oh, n-no—not at all, thanks to y-you and A-Aragorn."

There was a brief silence between them, in which Gúthwyn wrung her hands—still not looking at Arwen—and wished fervently that Éowyn would return in a timely manner. Surely her business with Nestadan would not last long…

"What of Hammel and Haiweth?" Arwen queried pleasantly. "Did they enjoy their time here?"

"Very much," Gúthwyn assured her—which was, at least for Haiweth, perfectly true. "Haiweth especially," she added, in case Arwen expected her to elaborate.

"Indeed, it seemed that Haiweth was thrilled to attend the ball," Arwen replied. "She is a delightful young woman. You must be very proud of her."

"I am," Gúthwyn said, smiling in spite of her discomfort. "She is a wonderful child."

"I understand that, thus far, your friend Cobryn has overseen her education—is this correct?" Arwen inquired.

"Y-Yes," Gúthwyn confirmed, tensing. Why was Arwen questioning her like this? Was this the queen's way of extracting information about her relationship with Cobryn? Surely she had heard the rumors…

"What sort of subjects does he teach her?" Arwen asked.

Gúthwyn was developing severe misgivings about the entire conversation. "He instructs her in reading, arithmetic, geography, and history—though the lessons have, naturally, been interrupted this week."

"Have you yet given thought to her future?"

Gúthwyn's eyes widened; she was thoroughly alarmed by the turn the discussion had taken. "Haiweth is only fourteen," she pointed out. "She is too young for… for marriage, if that is what you are referring to."

"She is certainly too young for marriage," Arwen calmly agreed. "However, from what I have observed it seems that Haiweth wishes to spend more time in society with her peers. Have you considered making arrangements for this?"

When Gúthwyn did not respond, Arwen continued, "With your permission, I would like to offer Haiweth a position in my household."

It was as if Gúthwyn's worst nightmare had come true. She stared at Arwen, aghast, as the Elf added, "Long ago, before the line of kings was broken, it was customary for the queen of Gondor to appoint the daughters of the nobility as her ladies-in-waiting. I have resumed this tradition and, though Haiweth is not from Gondor, I would like to include her amongst this number."

Gúthwyn's mind was reeling; she could hardly process what she was hearing, let alone come up with a polite way to refuse. Cobryn and Éowyn had both mentioned sending Haiweth to Minas Tirith for this very purpose, but never had she imagined that Arwen herself would implore her to do so.

Noticing her hesitation, Arwen said, "As a lady-in-waiting, she would be under my custody and protection. Education, room, and board would be provided for her. She would be living with other girls her age, and she would have the chance to learn the ins and outs of court."

Gúthwyn could scarcely breathe, so horrified was she. Her siblings, Cobryn, and now Queen Arwen—everyone wanted to take her child away from her. What did they care if Haiweth was too young? All that mattered was that she be groomed for marriage; that she become meek, docile, submissive.

"Y-Your offer is very kind, my lady," she began, clenching her fists in her lap, "yet I-I must decline it. Haiweth is too young to be living on her own."

"I know it must be difficult to consider being apart from her," Arwen answered softly, "but rest assured that she would not be on her own. She would be under my supervision, and afforded the protection befitting a member of the king's household."

"I am confident that you would look after her," Gúthwyn said, her hands curled so tightly that her nails were digging into her palms, "but, with all due respect, I cannot send Haiweth away. I will not. She is too young."

"I understand," Arwen quietly acquiesced, her expression unreadable.

No, you do not, Gúthwyn thought viciously. Out loud, she replied, "Do not think me ungrateful—that is not what I mean by my refusal. I simply cannot let Haiweth leave Emyn Arnen, for she is but fourteen and—" She broke off, having been about to say I fear that she will be taken advantage of. "Nevertheless, I thank you for your offer. It was both unexpected and exceedingly kind."

Arwen inclined her head. "I wish I had more time on my hands," she confessed; "else I would have done everything in my power to win you over." She smiled jestingly, as if expecting Éomund's daughter to chuckle politely at the remark; but when her words met with no response, she sighed delicately and rose to her feet. Gúthwyn hastily did the same. "I must be off," Arwen said, "but, as Haiweth grows older, I hope that you will reconsider. My offer will continue to hold: she may join us whenever you deem it appropriate."

"Thank you, my lady," Gúthwyn felt obliged to murmur, though in truth her stomach was tightening into knots.

"Have a safe journey home," Arwen bade her sincerely; and with that she was gone, the train of her cloak slipping out the door.

Gúthwyn barely had time to sit back down in her chair before Cobryn entered the room. "Well?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "What did the queen want with you?"

"She came to invite Haiweth to be one of her ladies-in-waiting," Gúthwyn replied numbly, still absorbing what had just transpired.

"And?" Cobryn prompted when she did not elaborate.

"And what?" Gúthwyn snapped, suddenly irritated. "Of course I said no."

Cobryn threw his hands up in the air. "Of course you did," he retorted, "because you need Haiweth, you need her—" He checked himself with a frustrated sigh as Gúthwyn's cheeks turned bright red in anger. "In the interest of this not turning into a shouting match," he said, his voice stiff from the effort it was clearly costing him to reign in his temper, "let us not argue. But I will say this," he added, as he was leaving the room: "you are doing Haiweth a huge disservice, and she will come to resent you for it."

"How dare you?" Gúthwyn shrieked, leaping to her feet. Cobryn was already halfway out the door, but she was faster: she strode forward and shoved him, catching him so much by surprise that he stumbled into the opposite wall. "How dare you condemn me for what I am doing, when all I have ever done has been to protect the two of them?"

Cobryn righted himself before she was upon him again, and he caught her hands as she made to strike him. "You are blinded by your own fears," he growled, "and you are all but keeping Haiweth a prisoner as a result. In the name of your so-called protection, she has lost her freedom! When will you realize that your cosseting her is doing more harm than good?"

"That is so easy for you to say!" Gúthwyn yelled at him, struggling in vain to pull her hands out of his grasp. "You are a man, what do you know about the dangers that await her? You would send her into the wolves' den because you would have one of them choose her as his bride, would you not? All you care about is marrying her off! I have no idea what happened to your judgment, but it has completely deserted you!"

"Listen to yourself," Cobryn ordered. "Can you not hear how paranoid you sound? You are suffocating those children! And yet you wonder why Hammel draws away from you, why he will have nothing to do with you anymore—"

"What on Middle-earth is going on here?"

Cobryn and Gúthwyn stiffened, then looked over to see Éowyn and Nestadan in the hallway. It was the White Lady who had spoken, her eyes narrowed in bewilderment. Nestadan, his arms full of various herbs and supplies, was equally astonished by the sight before him.

Gúthwyn felt her hands being released. "Forgive us," she muttered. "We were just having an argument."

"I can see that," Éowyn replied drily.

Éomund's youngest daughter knew better than to explain: Éowyn would not take her side. "Please, excuse me," she said curtly, before turning again to Cobryn. He met her gaze defiantly, refusing to back down or apologize. "Never have I been so disappointed in you," she said softly.

She fled back into her chambers and slammed the door, not a moment before her eyes began to burn with tears. Arwen's proposal and Cobryn's betrayal, combined, were more than she could bear.

Why are they doing it? she wondered in anguish. Why are they trying to take Haiweth away from me?

Yet no answer came, and there was only silence as she sank into bitterness.


	70. An Unexpected Ally

**Chapter Seventy**

The return to Emyn Arnen was uneventful, though Gúthwyn refused to exchange a single word with Cobryn. She knew that he had informed Éowyn about the cause of their dispute, for the White Lady did not seek to question her. Éowyn's numerous reproachful glances, however, were enough to confirm Gúthwyn's fears: she, too, wanted Haiweth flung into the perils of Gondorian society.

Fortunately, Éowyn's disapproval did not extend so far as to tell Haiweth of Queen Arwen's offer, and the girl remained blissfully unaware of the opportunity Gúthwyn had turned down on her behalf. _She_ was perfectly content, and it was nearly a week before she talked of anything other than the trip to Minas Tirith.

Gúthwyn, for her part, tried to settle back into her normal life—or, rather, as normal a life as she could possibly lead outside of Rohan—but found that she was growing increasingly disquieted and anxious. She started dreaming again, familiar faces floating in and out of her thoughts. Legolas was often among them, though he always vanished too quickly to determine whether he was friend or foe. She would awake in the mornings with a distinct sense of unease, a lingering restlessness that stayed with her for the rest of the day.

Worse, however, were the dreams in which she heard the plaintive cry of a newborn child—and then realized that the infant was in her own room, lying in a crib beside her bed. Yet every time she reached out for the baby, it vanished into thin air. She was left with nothing in her hands but a tiny, still-warm blanket.

Her troubled state did not go unnoticed by Éowyn, who interrogated her until she admitted that the nightmares were returning. The White Lady then promptly solicited Nestadan's help in prescribing various anxiety remedies, and as a result Gúthwyn was expected to meet with the healer every morning to inform him of her "progress."

It was during one of these sessions, about a month after the trip to Minas Tirith, when Nestadan sighed and told her that he did not know if their arrangement should continue.

"Why not?" Gúthwyn asked, bewildered. "I-I have been sleeping better, except for that one night I forgot to take the potion—"

"Precisely," Nestadan replied somberly. "I have been treating the symptoms, not the cause. I do not want you to have to rely on potions for the rest of your life in order to get a good night's sleep." He hesitated, then added, "You told me, when I started treating you, that you used to have these nightmares in Rohan—that they were worse, years ago, and had gotten better until now."

"Yes," Gúthwyn confirmed, folding her arms across her chest.

Nestadan hesitated. "Forgive me, Lady Gúthwyn," he finally began, "but I would like to guess at the cause of your recent nightmares."

"Go on," Gúthwyn said slowly, her voice wavering.

Nestadan needed only one word. "Amrothos."

There was no point in trying to deny it, so Gúthwyn gave a short nod.

"And the nightmares from years ago?" Nestadan inquired softly. "Were those because of the other man?"

Again, Éomund's daughter nodded. Her throat felt constricted.

"Lady Gúthwyn," Nestadan spoke, sighing, "I do not believe that I am the right person to help you."

"But your sleeping potions are working," Gúthwyn protested, blinking away a sudden onslaught of tears. "Do you not think that—that my nightmares would have stopped if anything else h-had _helped_?"

"Lady Gúthwyn—"

"You are the only person," Gúthwyn cut him off, her lips quivering from the effort it was taking her not to cry, "who can do _anything_ about—about—even if it is just getting me to sleep through the night—"

"My lady—"

"You do not understand, Nestadan," Gúthwyn continued, turning away as the tears began to fall; "you do not understand that no one can _help_ me—not you, not my siblings, no one—a-and that sleeping potions a-are just about the only th-thing that are of use to me…"

She broke off, for her body was trembling so much that she feared he would think her mad.

"What if you could talk to someone," Nestadan said quietly, "who understands what you are going through?"

Gúthwyn turned back to face the healer. "What do you mean?" she asked, wiping uselessly at her cheeks. "M-My siblings try, but…"

"I was not referring to your siblings," Nestadan replied.

Gúthwyn's brow furrowed as her bewilderment increased. "W-Who, then?" she questioned.

"I know someone," Nestadan answered softly; "someone close to your age, who was raped a long time ago. Without divulging your name, I told her about your situation. She said that she would be willing to meet with you—if you are comfortable with doing so, that is."

His words hit Gúthwyn with the force of a battering ram, and it was several seconds before she had collected herself enough to respond. "S-Someone who was… who was raped?" she repeated, shivering though the room was not cold.

Nestadan nodded.

"I…" Gúthwyn bit her lip, unsure of how to react. "Y-You want me to… to meet with her?" she stammered, confused.

"Only if you want to," Nestadan reminded her.

"But…" Gúthwyn was starting to feel overwhelmed. What if she agreed to a meeting? Would she have to tell the woman her story? What would they say to each other?

"You do not have to decide now," Nestadan said, noticing her hesitation. "You can take as long as you want to give me your answer—she will understand."

"I-I have no idea what my answer is," Gúthwyn admitted, twisting her hands together. "W-What should I do?" she asked the healer, wishing she had Cobryn with her.

Nestadan weighed his words carefully before replying. "I think that it would help you to see that you are not alone," he said, "but I do not want you to base your choice off of what I believe."

Gúthwyn knew that he was right, no matter how much she wanted him—or anyone else, really—to make the decision for her. She was tempted to ask who the other woman was, but it would not be fair when he had taken care to conceal her identity.

She did not have the capacity to either accept or deny Nestadan's offer, not now. What she needed was time: enough to mull over her options, but not so much that she could keep putting the matter off.

"Give me a week," she finally told the healer, swallowing. "A week, and I will have an answer for you."

As soon as she spoke the words, she wondered what she had just condemned herself to.

* * *

><p>A week later, and with the encouragements of Éowyn ringing in her ears, Gúthwyn took a deep breath and knocked on Nestadan's door.<p>

"It's _my_ turn to answer the door!"

"No, _mine_!"

"_Mine!_"

"_Galanhîr, that's not fair!_"

Amidst the sound of Gilwen's shrieking, the door opened and Galanhîr beamed up at her. "Hello, Princess Gúthwyn!" he exclaimed.

Gúthwyn grinned back, having already learned that, no matter how many times she tried to correct him, Galanhîr would insist on giving her the same rank as Éowyn—"because you're her sister, silly!"

"Hello, Galanhîr," she said. "Hello, Gilwen."

Just behind her brother, Gilwen stuck out her tongue. "He pulled my hair," she complained.

"Galanhîr, what have I told you about playing nice with your sister?" Nanaendis asked, coming into view. She smiled at Éomund's daughter, placed a warning hand on Galanhîr's shoulder, and asked, "Are you here for Nestadan, my lady?"

Gúthwyn's anxiety, momentarily forgotten in the face of Galanhîr's cheerfulness, returned in full swing. "Y-Yes," she stammered, wincing when Nanaendis gave her a quick look.

"He is out gathering some herbs," the other woman informed her, "but he should be back any moment now. Would you like to wait?"

"Oh." Gúthwyn felt her resolve ebb away. "N-No, I will come back—"

"Lady Gúthwyn?"

Éomund's daughter turned around to see Nestadan coming up the walkway, a friendly smile on his face. She was trapped.

"Hello, Nestadan," she said quietly, wiping her sweaty palms on her dress.

"Please, come in," the healer bade her.

Under Nestadan and Nanaendis's expectant gazes, Gúthwyn had no choice but to cross the threshold. She was invited to sit at the table, which she did with great trepidation.

"Galanhîr," Nanaendis said when the boy made to follow Gúthwyn, "will you do me a favor and take your sister outside to play?"

Gilwen gasped in delight. "Can I be a princess?" she shouted.

Galanhîr was less excited. "I don't want to play _princesses_," he said scornfully.

"Perhaps you can be a knight," Nanaendis suggested diplomatically. "Your sister will need protecting."

Galanhîr puffed out his chest. "I'm going to go on a quest!" he announced dramatically. "Come on, Gilwen, I have a dragon to kill!"

And he would have raced out the door, had Nanaendis not gently caught him by his collar and warned, "Stay out front, where I can see both of you!"

The children departed, Gilwen reminding Galanhîr that he had to rescue her once he was done fighting the dragon. ("Perhaps you can rescue your brother instead," Nanaendis suggested wryly.) Gúthwyn watched them go with a pained smile, wondering if she would ever send her children into the vast outdoors.

"How is your health today, my lady?" Nestadan inquired, interrupting her thoughts. He sat down at the table beside her as Nanaendis headed to the other side of the room, where she had been cutting up a number of vegetables.

"Fine, thank you," Gúthwyn replied, curling and flexing her fingers nervously. "I… I was just… I mean, I came here to… to…"

Now that it came to it, she could not get the words out. In and of themselves, they were an admission of everything that had happened to her. Not here, not in a room where children had so recently been, could she speak of the crimes Haldor had committed. Not when Nanaendis was so close, not when she could possibly hear them.

Nestadan spoke when Gúthwyn faltered. "Is this about our conversation last week?" he asked, his voice low. "Did you reach a decision?"

Gúthwyn nodded, feeling a lump in her throat. "I… I want to talk to her," she whispered, remembering all the advice Éowyn had given her.

"You do?" Nestadan questioned softly. "Are you certain?"

Nay, she was not—not in the slightest. Yet she did not want to pass up the opportunity to meet someone who had gone through the same ordeal as her, someone who would understand her suffering in a way that even Éowyn and Éomer, though they tried, could not.

"I-I am certain," she confirmed, a little louder than before. "I want to meet the woman you told me about."

Suddenly, there was a loud _crash_. Gúthwyn jumped, cringing at the noise; but it turned out to be Nanaendis, who had accidentally knocked over what looked to be a rather heavy pot.

"I-I am so sorry," the woman apologized, her face ashen as she bent over to pick up the pot. "Forgive me, I-I did not mean to…"

"Nanaendis, are you all right?" Gúthwyn worriedly asked.

Nanaendis barely seemed to hear her. As she straightened, her alarmed gaze kept darting towards her husband. "Nestadan?" she queried anxiously. "W-Were you just—I-I am sorry, I could not help but overhear—were you talking about what I think… what I think you were talking about?"

Éomund's daughter flinched when Nestadan nodded. _He said he was going to keep my secret, _she thought, mortified.

"Gúthwyn," Nanaendis said, her voice strangled, "I… I am that woman."

For a moment, there was such silence that Gúthwyn could hear Galanhîr and Gilwen's footsteps as they ran around outside the dwelling.

"Y-You?" she finally gasped, staring at Nanaendis in shock. "Y-You were… You were raped?"

Nanaendis inclined her head.

"B-But you are m-married," Gúthwyn stammered, uncomprehendingly. "A-And you have… you have children…"

Before Nanaendis could reply, Nestadan rose to his feet. "I will be outside, if you need me," he told his wife, bending over to kiss her forehead. "Take as much time as you wish. I will keep Galanhîr and Gilwen occupied."

Once he was gone, Gúthwyn resumed gaping at Nanaendis. "I-I do not understand," she admitted. How could she not have realized? Surely there had to have been some indicator of the woman's past. She had never seen Nanaendis looking upset, nor even lost in thought, and there was no flash of fear in her eyes whenever Nestadan touched her.

"What do you not understand?" Nanaendis inquired, though not unkindly.

Gúthwyn flushed as she tried to find the right words to explain. "Y-You are always so h-happy," she stuttered, unable to imagine leading the same idyllic life as Nanaendis did. "D-Do you have nightmares?" Surely there was _some_ way in which the other woman was haunted by her past.

Nanaendis shook her head.

"H-How?" Gúthwyn demanded, stunned. "How have you been so lucky?"

"You frequently have nightmares, my lady?" Nanaendis questioned, her brow furrowed.

Gúthwyn nodded, her eyes darkening. "I used to get them several times a week," she confessed. "Only a few years ago did they stop… and now they have started again."

"When did it happen to you?" Nanaendis queried softly.

Gúthwyn looked away, her jaw clenching as her mind returned to Haldor's tent. "The first time was nearly thirteen years ago," she whispered, her voice hoarse. "It stopped three years later, but only because he died."

Nanaendis's gaze was filled with empathy. "I was raped once," she replied, "fifteen years ago. It was a drunken patron of the tavern my parents owned."

Gúthwyn longed to ask how it had happened, but she knew that she herself would not be able to answer the same inquiry. "Was he punished?" she asked instead.

"Hardly, since my own parents did not believe me," Nanaendis responded dryly.

Éomund's daughter felt her jaw drop. "Th-They did not believe you?" she gasped, horrified. "Why not?"

"Because if they had, they would have lost customers," Nanaendis explained bitterly. "Even when I became pregnant, and they could no longer deny that something had happened, they insisted that I must have seduced him."

Gúthwyn felt sick. If Éowyn and Éomer had treated her so callously—if they had accused her of lying, or of encouraging Haldor—she did not know how she would have had the strength to continue. Worse, if she had been pregnant…

Something struck her just then, and she froze. Nanaendis had said that she was raped more than a decade ago, yet Galanhîr was no more than seven… "Th-The baby?" she asked, her breath catching in her throat. "W-What happened to it?"

"I ended the pregnancy," Nanaendis confessed, a soft sigh escaping her lips. "That is how I met Nestadan—he was the son of the healer who gave me the necessary herbs. He stayed with me as I… as I miscarried."

"A-An abortion," Gúthwyn murmured, her voice no more than a whisper.

Something stirred in her then; a fragment of a memory, perhaps, or a half-formed thought which was slipping away even as she tried to grasp it. What would she have done if Haldor had—but no, she could not imagine it. Her mind was blank. She forgot what she had been remembering, if indeed she had been remembering anything at all.

"Lady Gúthwyn?" Nanaendis asked, with a sharp note of concern that drew Éomund's daughter back to the present.

"I-I am s-sorry," Gúthwyn stammered, mentally berating herself for her inability to concentrate. "I just… Y-Your parents, do they live here?"

Nanaendis shook her head. "I was from a small village in Lebennin. I left them when I went to Minas Tirith for the abortion, and I never went back."

Her matter-of-fact tone astonished Gúthwyn. "Does it not bother you?" she asked in amazement. "After everything that you have gone through?"

Nanaendis shrugged, looking thoughtfully at Éomund's daughter. "Honestly, sometimes it seems as if it all happened to another person in a different lifetime," she said slowly. "And it was quite a long while ago. I remember thinking, at the time, that I would never be normal again—but then I met Nestadan, and things fell back into place. Now, with Galanhîr and Gilwen, I have very little reason to revisit those days."

Hearing that Nanaendis had fully recovered and rebuilt her life did not give Gúthwyn the sense of hope she had expected; instead, she felt even worse. "I am such an idiot," she was unable to stop herself from murmuring, as hot tears spilled onto her cheeks.

"Why would you say that, my lady?" Nanaendis asked, frowning.

"Because here you are," Gúthwyn burst out, gesturing around the dwelling, "with a husband and two children, and no nightmares or dark thoughts… whereas I constantly dream about it, and I hate wearing white because I do not deserve the color; and I have turned down countless offers of marriage, when in fact I loved and respected a great deal of the men, all because I could not bear the thought of them touching me. I used to go for days, Nanaendis," she continued, her voice trembling with the effort it took not to break entirely, "without eating more than a slice of bread, when the memories made me physically ill to the point where I was bedridden and vomiting… and now I found out that my behavior is abnormal in every way possible, even—even to someone else who has been raped. My siblings were right to be frustrated with me," she concluded, loathing herself.

"Do not say that," Nanaendis replied urgently, placing a hand over Gúthwyn's. "Do not compare your recovery to mine, or others', when none of our experiences were the same. It is like a soldier expecting his wound to heal just as quickly as his friend's, when in fact the wounds are in different places and are not even the same size. You should not feel guilty for taking longer to heal, nor should you be angry with yourself for not progressing as rapidly as you would like—it is certainly not your fault."

"Y-Yes, it is," Gúthwyn choked out. "I-If I w-were not so _weak_, I-I would be m-married by now…"

"Gúthwyn," Nanaendis said forcefully, "the fact that you survived your ordeal and are here today, talking to me about it, suggests that you are not weak—quite the opposite, actually. If you try to force yourself into recovery, you will only make things worse. I know it can be discouraging"—and here her voice was softer, and kindly—"to see others who are happily married, but do not despair. You still have time."

"And what if I run out of time?" Gúthwyn demanded, her voice rising. "What if I am not ready for a husband until I am past the age of childbearing? What would the point of my recovery be then, too late to be of any use?" Her anger, long restrained to a simmer, was now spilling forth in hot waves of frustration. Unable to sit any longer, she leaped to her feet and began pacing around the small room. "I am so sick of being held back because of my foolish fears, when everyone I know—even you, especially you—is perfectly capable of functioning normally. Is it so much to ask that I be able to do the same? I _want_ children, I _want_ a husband—and why not? Why should I not have them? Do I not deserve a family just as much as the next person? Why should I have to cower alone in my chamber because of what happened to me a decade ago? How is that fair?"

She broke off, her breathing ragged, conscious of one thing: that she had just admitted, not only to Nanaendis but to herself, that she desired a husband. But what had she meant by it? Surely not—no, she had been thinking of what she might have had with Borogor. That was what she wanted, and it was too late for that.

"I-I am sorry," she choked out, seeing Nanaendis's wide-eyed expression. "I-I did not mean…" She lowered herself back into her chair, trembling in the silence.

"You do not have to apologize," Nanaendis replied gently. "It is a good sign, I think, that you are angry."  
>"Of course I am angry," Gúthwyn said vehemently. "I hate the person I have become, and the ways in which I have been limited because of it. I just want it all to be over, and for it to be no more than a bad memory—but, apparently, that is too difficult for me."<p>

Nanaendis gave a sad, sympathetic smile. "I wish there was more I could do to help you," she said. "But while I may not have all the answers, and while I may not be able to single-handedly accomplish your recovery, I am here for whenever you need someone to talk to. You are not alone, my lady—know that, at least."

"Y-You would do that?" Gúthwyn stammered, caught off-guard by Nanaendis's offer. "T-Talk to me?"

"Of course," Nanaendis replied, looking surprised that she had asked.

"Th-Thank you," Gúthwyn murmured, touched by the gesture. "It would not… It would not be difficult for you?" she asked anxiously, unwilling for Nanaendis's generosity to come at a price to Nanaendis herself.

"It will be no imposition at all," Nanaendis said firmly. "Please, do not hesitate to seek me out if you are having problems—or even if you just want to discuss something as mundane as the weather."

Gúthwyn swallowed, almost afraid of the opportunity that was opening in front of her. Yet another, greater part of her was drawn to the idea of having such a confidante, of being able to talk to someone who not only had experienced the same violation as her, but had also managed to defeat its hold in their mind.

_Nanaendis did it,_ she told herself.

Was it so impossible, then, that with Nanaendis's guidance she might learn to do the same?


	71. Letters From Legolas

**Chapter Seventy-One**

As the weeks went on, the cold grip of winter slackened and gradually gave way to the first tidings of spring. Ithilien was abloom, with the braver flowers venturing forth directly on the heels of the retreating frost. Gúthwyn welcomed the warmer season, though by no means was she ready to abandon her thick cloak. She began spending more and more time outdoors, delighting in the fresh air upon her face and the occasional breeze that whispered through her tresses. Emyn Arnen was no Edoras, not by a long shot; but it was sufficient, for now, and she enjoyed the improved temperatures.

The weather was not the only thing in Ithilien that changed with the seasons. Éowyn's stomach swelled as her pregnancy progressed, and soon the infant could be felt kicking at the walls of its confinement. Éowyn allowed Gúthwyn to touch her abdomen, something that had never been permitted with Lothíriel, and experience the sensation for herself. Out loud, Éomund's youngest daughter had delighted in the tiny kick; but, inwardly, she wondered if this would be her only quickening.

Around that time, just as the days were starting to get longer, she received a letter from Hunwald, one of the Rohirric guards who had escorted her to Emyn Arnen. The young warrior excitedly informed her that he had been contacted by Merry, who had sent him a copy of his yet-unfinished treatise on the Ents—complete with stories and anecdotes from his and Pippin's time with Treebeard.

This reminder of Edoras, small though it was, made Gúthwyn quite homesick; she desperately longed to return to Rohan, where she could ride upon the open fields and spend her days wandering throughout the city. Yet there was no hint in Éomer's letters of a reconciliation between him and Lothíriel—in fact, she seemed to have dropped out of his life entirely. He never mentioned her, not even when Gúthwyn pointedly inquired after her wellbeing. Instead he wrote about Elfwine's latest adventures, or gave her updates on the lives of her friends. It was as if the woman he had once loved had never existed.

"I can hardly blame him," Éowyn muttered when Gúthwyn expressed her concern. The two of them were in the White Lady's chambers, basking in the sunlight from a nearby window as they attended to various letters. "After everything she did to you, I would not be half as generous as our brother. He has not kicked her out of Meduseld, after all."

"If Elfwine were not involved, that would be one thing," Gúthwyn answered. "But I can only imagine the effect all of this is having on him. I wish, for his sake, that Éomer would restrain his temper."

Éowyn pursed her lips, but refrained from saying anything. Gúthwyn tried to ignore her sister's disapproval, for Lothíriel was a subject they had never agreed upon. Nor was the White Lady alone in her objections: Cobryn frequently voiced his disapproval of the way Gúthwyn had handled the fallout of her rivalry with Lothíriel, and had blatantly told her that he wished he could "knock some sense into your infuriatingly thick skull."

Gúthwyn's musings were interrupted by a tap on the door. She and Éowyn both glanced up to see Faramir sticking his head into the room. "Am I interrupting anything?" the Steward inquired.

"No, not at all," Éowyn assured her husband, motioning for him to come in. "We were just answering some letters."

"I have another to add to the reading pile, then," Faramir replied, stepping into the room. He nodded at Gúthwyn, who silently returned the gesture; yet she could not dismiss the small part of her that felt like her civility towards Faramir was a betrayal of Borogor's memory.

"Who is it from?" Éowyn asked, as Faramir gave her both an opened letter and a kiss. Gúthwyn looked away, pretending to be utterly absorbed by the task of composing a reply to Éomer.

"Legolas," she heard the Steward inform her sister. "He has invited us to spend a few days at the colony."

Éowyn's eyes widened as she scanned the letter's contents. "His father will be there," she said in surprise.

"K-King Thranduil?" Gúthwyn stammered, her head snapping up in alarm.

"'My father has fond memories of your last meeting with him,'" Éowyn read aloud, "'and he desires to dine again with you and Princess Éowyn.'"

"You have dined with him before?" Gúthwyn asked, astonished. "When?"

"Did I not tell you?" Éowyn inquired, knitting her brow. "When the colony was first getting started, King Thranduil often visited to check on its progress. On occasion, Legolas would invite us to join them."

Gúthwyn frowned, trying to recall if there had ever been a mention of the Elvenking in any of the letters Éowyn had sent to Rohan. Perhaps… yet she had always sought to overlook news of Legolas.

Something occurred to her, and she queried, "Why did King Thranduil never stay at Edoras, then, if he was traveling back and forth so much?"

Éowyn and Faramir exchanged a glance that she could not decipher. "Well," Faramir began, shifting on his feet, "it is quite possible to make the journey to Mirkwood—excuse me, Eryn Lasgalen—to Ithilien without setting foot in Rohan."

Gúthwyn stared at the Steward in confusion. "Then why did Legolas come to Edoras so often?" she asked, unsure of how to feel about this revelation. Had she learned of it years ago—that was to say, had she been remotely competent in her geography studies—she would undoubtedly have been angry at being forced to endure Legolas's unnecessary visits; but now, she did not know if she could muster the same indignation.

"I would imagine that he wanted to maintain his friendship with our brother," Éowyn contributed, raising an eyebrow. "They did, after all, fight alongside one another at the Black Gate."

Gúthwyn bit her lip, supposing that her sister had a point… yet it was nevertheless disconcerting to discover that all of Legolas's nerve-wracking visits could have been avoided.

_If he had not stayed at Meduseld so often, you would still be terrified of him today,_ she sternly reminded herself.

"Listen to this, baby sister," Éowyn said suddenly, straightening as she continued reading the letter. "According to Legolas, King Thranduil 'especially wants to make the acquaintance of Lady Gúthwyn.'"

"M-Me?" Gúthwyn squeaked, feeling the color drain from her face. "Why me?"

"Well, he has not met you before," Éowyn suggested.

Gúthwyn barely heard the White Lady, so overcome with dismay was she. After everything Legolas had told her about his father, and given a remark the prince had once made that Thranduil and Raniean were quite close, she could only imagine what the Elvenking would think of her. She lacked the grace and sophisticated mannerisms that came so easily to her sister; to someone immortal, she would surely come across as a bumbling oaf.

"Sister?"

Gúthwyn jumped, almost tipping over an inkbottle in the process. "Y-Yes?" she asked Éowyn, who was watching her concernedly.

"Are you feeling ill?" Éowyn inquired softly. "Or is the idea of meeting Legolas's father so frightening to you?"

Mortified that Éowyn was even hinting at her fear of Elves in front of Faramir, and rather overwhelmed by the whole situation, Gúthwyn quickly said, "I-I just do not understand w-why he wants to see _me_ 'especially.'" She had already weathered one trip to the colony, but King Thranduil was another matter entirely. What if he brought an entourage with him? There would be even more Elves than usual—the place would be full of them.

"He must know that you are friends with Legolas," Éowyn replied. "I am afraid there is nothing for it, baby sister, but to accept Legolas's invitation."

Gúthwyn was well aware that it was hardly polite to refuse Elven royalty; yet still she trembled as she asked, "When does he want to dine with us?"

"Three weeks from now," Éowyn informed her. "Will you be all right?"

Mindful of Faramir's presence, Gúthwyn had little choice but to nod. "Of course I will," she declared, in a robust tone which did not match her feelings in the slightest. If it were just Legolas awaiting them at the colony, that would have been bearable—but a stern Elvenking was something to be reckoned with. She was certain that he would not approve of her.

_Not that it really matters, because I will hopefully never have to see him again,_ she thought.

"Gúthwyn, you also have a letter from Legolas," Faramir said then, handing her a length of folded-up parchment.

Gúthwyn flushed under her sister's gaze as she took the letter. As if on cue, Éowyn remarked, "I did not know, Gúthwyn, that you were corresponding with Legolas."

"I am not corresponding with him," Éomund's youngest daughter immediately retorted. "He wrote to me after we left Minas Tirith and inquired about how I was doing in the wake of my encounter with Amrothos. I replied. That was it."

"Yet that was months ago," Éowyn pointed out. "And he is still writing to you. Are you writing back?"

Gúthwyn irritably stuck Legolas's letter at the bottom of the small stack beside her. "Elfwine wrote to me," she spoke, ignoring the question. "Have I shown you his letter?"

"Do not change the subject," Éowyn ordered her, looking annoyed that Gúthwyn had not even bothered to be subtle about avoiding the inquiry.

"Why does it matter?" Gúthwyn demanded. So what if Legolas had written her every couple of weeks since the winter, and she was responding? To ignore him would have been impolite; besides, their discussion never went beyond casual conversation topics. What business was it of Éowyn's? "I do not scrutinize your every correspondence, sister," she added, unfolding the letter from Elfwine.

Over the top of the parchment, she saw Éowyn and Faramir look at each other. "I was simply curious," Éowyn said, arching her brow.

"I know _that_," Gúthwyn ground out, unable to suppress her hostility. "And I know what your curiosity is implying!"

Hastily, she gathered together all of her letters. "I am going to my room," she stiffly declared. "I will see you at dinner."

Before either Éowyn or Faramir could say anything, she stalked past them and headed towards the door. She had just reached the sanctuary of the outer hall when she abruptly turned around and said, to the astonished White Lady, "I am quite aware that you would have me marry, but now you have approached a line that you would do well to retreat from."

Without another word, she closed the door and stormed down the hall.

* * *

><p>Gúthwyn thought about remaining in her room after the argument with her sister, but she feared that Éowyn would try to corner her into a discussion. And so she put on a cloak and went outside, though she had nothing to do but wander around aimlessly.<p>

There were a number of Gondorians out and about, and each of them paused what they were doing to politely greet her. Thanks to Éowyn's help, Gúthwyn knew many of their names; she attempted to address them accordingly and start a conversation when possible. After awhile, however, she realized that she was merely confusing them. She supposed that they did not understand why she was taking any interest in their affairs, since, unlike Éowyn, she was not involved in the governing of Emyn Arnen.

_The Valar forbid that I should seek friendship outside of my rank,_ she thought, sorely missing the people of Rohan.

She had progressed about halfway down the main road when she saw Nanaendis watering a few plants. Gúthwyn watched her for a moment, recalling the conversation they had had shortly after the trip to Minas Tirith. Since then, they had not discussed the abuse they had both suffered, but they had grown closer—because, Gúthwyn supposed, they understood one another. She found herself looking up to Nestadan's wife as an example of someone who had overcome her situation to accept marriage, even to bear children; something she herself was nowhere close to doing, and could not comprehend in the slightest.

_Nanaendis will see why I am angry with Éowyn,_ she thought, hoping that the older woman had a few minutes to talk. There was no sign of Galanhîr or Gilwen, and she knew that Nestadan had a number of calls to make that day.

Just then, Nanaendis glanced up from her watering and saw Éomund's daughter standing in the street. "Lady Gúthwyn," she said cheerfully, curtsying. "How are you today?"

"I-I am fine," Gúthwyn replied, crossing the road so that she could lower her voice. "I was just wondering… do you have a moment? I-I wanted to talk to you about something… in private, if you w-would not mind…"

Nanaendis looked searchingly at Éomund's daughter, her expression softening as she beheld the nervous woman. "Of course, my lady," she replied kindly. "Please, come inside."

Gúthwyn followed her into the house, where a kettle was soon heating up over the fire. The two of them made small talk while they waited for the water to boil; when it did, Nanaendis mixed in a packet of herbs and poured the tea into a couple of mugs. One of these she handed to Gúthwyn, before asking, "What is troubling you, my lady?"

Éomund's daughter shook her head. "Please," she said, "call me Gúthwyn."

Nanaendis nodded politely—yet, much as she had once done with Queen Arwen, Gúthwyn knew that Nestadan's wife had not agreed with any intention of following through on such a breach of proper etiquette.

Sighing, she began, "My sister is hinting, yet again…" She hesitated, not wanting to drag Legolas's name into the story. "She thinks… She thinks that someone I know is _interested_ in me, all because he has written a couple of letters—letters which, I can assure you, are not romantic in the slightest. She has said nothing explicit, of course, but I can tell by the way she looks at me."

"Do you have any feelings for the man?" Nanaendis inquired gently.

"Feelings?" Gúthwyn echoed, her eyes widening. "For L—for him? Nay, not at all! Not that it matters," she amended, still flustered by Nanaendis's question: "even if I did, it would be impossible… but that is not the point. The point is that my sister keeps bringing up the subject of marriage in the hope that I will grow more amenable to it."

Nanaendis hesitated before replying, "I do not believe that she does it out of malice. It is clear that she loves you, and would never intentionally hurt you."

"I know that she does not do it on purpose," Gúthwyn said, swallowing, "but still I wish that she would just let me be."

"You have every right to be upset," Nanaendis agreed. "The thought of marriage, after… after an experience like ours, can be terrifying. I do not blame you for being frustrated with your sister. Have you spoken to her about how her remarks are affecting you?"

"I have told her again and again," Gúthwyn responded morosely, "that I do not want a husband, but she thinks that I need one to recover from… from what happened…"

"Sometimes, a husband can help," Nanaendis pointed out, gesturing around the inside of her home. "My life with Nestadan has driven away the pain, the anger I thought would be my companions to the grave. He has been so patient with me, more than I would have ever thought possible of a man. I owe much of my recovery to him, and to the children he gave me. Yet I cannot speak for all women in our position. Marriage saved me, but it cannot save everyone. You must do, my lady, what you think is best for yourself—and if Éowyn is half the sister to you that she seems, she will respect your choice."

Her words struck a chord with Gúthwyn, whose eyelids started to prickle with unshed tears. "I do not know what my choice is anymore," she whispered, clenching her cup of tea so tightly that she nearly scalded herself. "A-And I am running out of time to make one."

"What do you mean, my lady?" Nanaendis inquired, frowning.

Now Gúthwyn was crying in earnest. "I want children," she confessed, trying in vain to stem the flow of tears. "More than anything, I want children of my own. Yet, at the same time, I do not want to… to lie with a man…"

"What about Hammel and Haiweth?" Nanaendis gently asked. "They would seem to be a compromise—"

Gúthwyn shook her head. "N-No matter h-how much I w-w-want them to be, they a-are not my children," she choked out. "H-Hammel hates me, a-and Haiweth c-cannot be far behind. I-I will n-never be a mother to them."

"Surely they do not hate you," Nanaendis replied, bewildered.

"Nay, they do," Gúthwyn answered, her shoulders shaking. "H-Hammel… Hammel once told me th-that he is only staying w-with me for Haiweth… a-and Haiweth w-wants to live in M-Minas Tirith… I have perhaps a-a few more years with them, u-until they a-are both lost to me forever." The thought made her crumple with despair, shuddering under the onslaught of a fresh wave of tears.

"I am truly sorry, my lady, I did not realize," Nanaendis murmured.

Gúthwyn waved away the other woman's apology. "I just… I feel so helpless," she whispered, swallowing. "I want children so badly… a-and yet I cannot… I cannot…"

"Is there no man with whom you are comfortable enough to consider—forgive my boldness—to consider lying with?" Nanaendis questioned. "After marriage, of course," she added with a blush; "I did not mean to imply that you would…"

Gúthwyn flinched at the idea. "The only men I would trust with my life—and, more importantly, the lives of my children—are my brother and Cobryn."

"Cobryn?" Nanaendis repeated. "The man you were arguing with when we rode into Minas Tirith?"

Gúthwyn flushed at the memory. "Yes," she confirmed. "He has… a different view of how Hammel and Haiweth should be brought up than I. We have had numerous disagreements about the subject—but, as infuriating as he sometimes is," she continued hastily, lest Nanaendis think otherwise, "he is my closest friend and he means well."

"What about him, then?" Nanaendis suggested carefully. "He is still childless—perhaps he would like to become a father."

Nanaendis's words were well-intentioned, but Gúthwyn felt a pang of discomfort as she recalled the reason why Cobryn did not have any children of his own. He had never gotten over Feride, nor did she think he ever would.

"I know you see him as no more than a friend," Nanaendis said, noticing Gúthwyn's distant expression, "yet sometimes it is friendship that makes a marriage, not romance. It seems as if the two of you care a lot about each other."

"Well, yes, but…" Gúthwyn trailed off, her embarrassment such that she could not find the words to voice her objections.

"From what I have heard about him, he appears to be an honorable man—and he is quite handsome," Nanaendis pointed out. "I suppose… nay, I know that I am telling you this not because I would presume to tell you whom to marry, but because I have learned from experience how important it is to feel comfortable with your spouse if you are ever to truly recover. If you fear that you will not be able to form such an attachment to another man within the time you have left, and your desire to have children is stronger than your fear of marriage, it might be worth considering a match with Cobryn."

Gúthwyn was so flustered, her hands began shaking and she nearly spilled her tea. Although, deep down, she knew that Nanaendis was speaking logically—and that her prospects were the lowest they had ever been, and were not likely to improve over the years—she still could not reconcile herself to the idea of sharing a bed with someone. Even if he were Cobryn; perhaps especially if he were Cobryn. She cringed to think of what his reaction would be if he overheard this conversation.

"I just do not understand…" she began, fidgeting with the waistline of her gown. "I do not understand how… how you did it. How you could marry someone after…" She shuddered. "Just the thought makes me sick."

"It was a long time before I was ready to marry Nestadan," Nanaendis told her with a rueful smile. "We were betrothed for over two years, in fact. I found that, while I enjoyed holding hands with him, or kissing him, I was initially afraid to go beyond that." She eyed Gúthwyn speculatively over the rim of her mug. "May I ask you a personal question, my lady?"

"Y-You may," Gúthwyn allowed nervously.

"Do you fear all types of intimacy with another man?" Nanaendis queried. "Or just the act of making love?"

Gúthwyn's cheeks turned a deep red as she thought of all the times she had fantasized about kissing Borogor, about his hands running through her hair; and then how she had so often held hands with Tun, and how—for a few foolish seconds—she had enjoyed their kiss before coming to her senses.

"I-I would not mind what you have said—kissing, a-and some t-touching"—she could barely speak for embarrassment—"b-but that is not all a husband will expect…"

"With enough time, you may become more comfortable with your partner," Nanaendis replied sympathetically. "I understand being afraid to trust a man with your body—I understand all too well. Yet eventually, with Nestadan, I started wanting to try again. Perhaps the same might be true for you, if you find the right person."

"I-I am not sure," Gúthwyn hedged, shifting uneasily in her chair. She did not even know who the right person was, let alone whether or not she would be willing to experiment with them. What if, unlike Nanaendis, she was never ready?

_But then I will never have children,_ she thought in despair.

"You still have time," Nanaendis reminded her. "You do not have to make a decision now."

Gúthwyn sighed. "Soon, I will," she said gloomily.


	72. Cobryn's Demonstration

**Chapter Seventy-Two**

By the time Gúthwyn's visit with Nanaendis came to an end, the sun was falling and the shadows on the ground were lengthening. She returned to an empty house: Beregond, the captain of the guard, told her that Faramir, Éowyn, and Haiweth had gone for a short ride; Hammel, of course, was nowhere in sight; and Cobryn was not accountable to anyone for his whereabouts.

Gúthwyn was not put out by her newfound solitude, for her mind was buzzing with all that she and Nanaendis had talked about. She had an awful headache and felt utterly drained; she needed a cool, dark place to sit and think. Her bedroom would not suffice, not when this time of day saw the sun streaming in directly through the window.

She began wandering aimlessly throughout the dwelling, wincing as the throbbing sensation behind her temples became even more pronounced. Eventually she stumbled upon the library, whose location in the house was such that the sun had already disappeared from it entirely. Breathing a sigh of relief, she slipped inside and sank into the nearest, most comfortable-looking chair. With their musty smells and uninteresting books, libraries were hardly her favorite places in the world—in fact, she had not set foot in Faramir's since Éowyn gave her a tour of the premises—but, for now, she was blissfully alone.

"Ah, there you are."

Gúthwyn nearly fell out of her seat in surprise as Cobryn's figure emerged from amidst the shadowy bookshelves. "Cobryn!" she gasped, glaring accusingly at him as her heart pounded rapidly against her ribcage. "What are you doing, lurking around like that?"

"I would hardly call looking for a book on the Corsairs of Umbar 'lurking,'" Cobryn said, holding aloft the book in question. "A far better inquiry would be: what are you doing in a library? Are you lost? Have you hit your head on something?"

"Very funny," Gúthwyn muttered, making a face at him. "I came because I thought no one else would be here."

Cobryn eyed her for a moment, then set aside his book and lowered himself into the chair nearest to her. "Are you all right?" he inquired concernedly. "Éowyn told me that you left the house after arguing with her."

"Did she tell you what we argued about?" Gúthwyn asked irritably, raising an eyebrow.

"Marriage," Cobryn replied grimly. "Again?"

"I would certainly hope not _marriage_," Gúthwyn said, shuddering, "but Éowyn was… she was implying things about the fact that I have been—that Legolas has been writing to me since we left Minas Tirith."

It was the first time she had told Cobryn about the correspondence, and she blushed to hear the words fall from her lips. Mercifully, he chose not to comment. Only the slightest widening of his eyes told her that he was restraining himself.

"What sort of things?" he asked, looking as if he already knew the answer.

"She said that she was 'simply curious,' when what she was getting at was that she thinks him—well, _interested_ in me, or something," Gúthwyn informed him, inwardly marveling at how warm the library was. "But of course she did not come out with it, because it is completely ridiculous."

"What did you say?" Cobryn inquired.

"I told her to stop," Gúthwyn answered, grimacing, "but it was not the first time she had made such a comment, and I doubt it will be the last. That was why I left."

"Where did you go?"

"To Nanaendis," she said softly.

"Ah." Respectful of Nanaendis's privacy, Gúthwyn had kept the story of her rape from Cobryn; but she was certain that he had figured out, or at least guessed at the truth, when the two of them became friends so quickly. She had, after all, informed him of Nestadan's offer to arrange a meeting with another survivor—it would not have been difficult for him to put the pieces together.

"How was your visit?" he asked, his expression not giving anything away.

Gúthwyn sighed and gave an uneasy shrug. "There is only so much Nanaendis can do to help," she pointed out. "Especially once we started talking about my problem of wanting children, but not the husband…"

"What sort of advice did she have about that?" Cobryn queried, interested.

Gúthwyn smiled wryly. "She told me to marry you."

For once, she had caught Cobryn off his guard. "What?"

"One of the, er, problems I had mentioned was not having enough time to meet someone, fall in love with them, and have my feelings returned—with a marriage proposal—in time to start… to start trying to… to conceive," Gúthwyn said, flushing. "And that is not even factoring in how long it would take me to make a choice about whether I was willing to have a husband in the first place. Nanaendis suggested that if I decided I was ready for marriage, and yet feared that I would not be able to find a husband soon enough, I should consider wedding you. Because we are friends and… well, she mentioned that you did not have children," she mumbled in a rush, inwardly cringing at the look on Cobryn's face, "but she did not know any better."

"I see," Cobryn replied softly.

"I-I am sorry," Gúthwyn stammered. "I should not have—"

"You do not have to apologize," Cobryn told her. "Nanaendis was being pragmatic. I would go so far as to say that, in theory, she is right."

Gúthwyn's smirk was as much an attempt to mask her troubled thoughts as it was to bring some levity to the conversation. "Can you imagine us marrying?" she asked.

"A significant portion of the young women in Edoras would be extraordinarily pleased with themselves for having guessed at the match several years in advance," Cobryn replied, chuckling.

"I suppose it would justify all the gossip," Gúthwyn agreed ruefully.

"Aye, but it would put a wrench in their triumph to discover that you were not pregnant," Cobryn pointed out. "Then they would be utterly bereft of any evidence of wrongdoing."

Although Gúthwyn nodded, her mirth faded at the mention of pregnancy.

"Are you all right?" Cobryn inquired, looking closely at her.

Gúthwyn shrugged unhappily. "I want children so much," she whispered, "and yet…" She trailed off, but Cobryn did not need her to continue.

"Do you think that your longing for them might overtake your fear of marriage?" he asked gently.

"A year or two ago, my answer would have been closer to 'no,'" Gúthwyn admitted, shivering. "But now, I am running out of time… and I am afraid that I might decide to risk wedding another, after all." She bit her lip in an attempt to hold back the tears pricking at the corners of her eyes, but only tasted blood for her efforts. "I just… I just wish that I did not have to make this decision."

"Perhaps you will be ready to try again when the time comes," Cobryn said, though he did not sound optimistic.

"More likely, I will have resigned myself to the idea of gritting my teeth while my husband grunts on top of me," Gúthwyn replied bitterly. "Perhaps, if I am lucky, he will let me close my eyes."

"Gúthwyn—" Cobryn began, sighing.

"That is all the act will ever be to me," Gúthwyn insisted. "I know it is not what you would want of me, but it is the only way I see it and nothing will change that."

"And what if it were with someone who loves you?" Cobryn queried. "Someone like Tun—who, for the sake of this discussion, we will pretend is not married—who would sooner die than hurt you. He would be gentle; would that not make it more tolerable?"

"Why would it?" Gúthwyn asked desperately. "If anything, it would make me feel even worse for lying to them—"

"Gúthwyn, there is a vast difference between making love to a man who cares for you, and being raped by a man who does not give a damn about your consent," Cobryn said quietly.

"Really?" Gúthwyn asked, outwardly scornful yet inwardly on the verge of tears. "And what 'vast difference' is that?"

Cobryn paused for a moment, then asked her, "You used to hold hands with Tun, did you not?"

"Er—well, yes," Gúthwyn said, blinking in confusion. "But what does that have to do with—"

"And you enjoyed it? That is, it was not an unpleasant experience?" Cobryn pressed.

"Of course not," Gúthwyn replied, bewildered. "Why would it have been? Tun is my…" She trailed off, suddenly apprehensive, as Cobryn got to his feet and approached her. She looked up at him, confused, noting uneasily that he towered over her. "What are you doing?"

Without warning, Cobryn pulled her out of the chair and grabbed her hand. Gúthwyn gasped—first in shock, then in alarm—but before she could say anything, he used his grip to twist her entire arm.

"Cobryn! What on Middle-earth—?" she demanded, hissing in discomfort.

Instead of answering, Cobryn yanked even harder and placed her in such a painful hold that she was forced to double over.

"What are you doing? Stop it!" Gúthwyn choked out as he practically squeezed the blood out of her hand.

"Do you want me to stop?" Cobryn asked, almost conversationally.

"Yes! What is wrong with you?" Gúthwyn gasped.

"Am I hurting you?" Cobryn asked, putting so much pressure on her shoulder that she was afraid it would dislocate.

"Yes!" Gúthwyn cried, her breathing labored.

"Did you give me permission to do this?" Cobryn grunted, easily avoiding her when she attempted to strike him with her free arm.

"No!" Gúthwyn all but shouted at him, tears of frustration welling up in her eyes. "Let go of me!" She tried to stomp on his feet, which were all she could see of him, but he had her in such a position that she could not muster enough force behind the attack.

In response—or perhaps as punishment—he wrenched her arm so much that black dots started swimming in front of her eyes. "Did you give me any indication that you wanted this?" he interrogated her. "Are you doing so now?"

"No, you bastard!" Gúthwyn shrieked at him. "How could you possibly think that I wanted you to—" She was cut off by her own hiss of pain when he twisted her arm again.

"And yet I have not stopped, have I?" Cobryn inquired.

"No," Gúthwyn whimpered, closing her eyes and praying for him to let her go.

All of a sudden, he released her. She lost her balance and fell to the floor, clutching at her now useless limb.

"What was that for?" she demanded, letting out a soft moan as the blood came rushing back. Her arm felt as if it were on fire.

"Are you hurt?" Cobryn asked, crouching beside her. His voice was far gentler than it had been a few seconds ago, but still she flinched.

"Get away from me," she growled, scrambling back when he made to examine her shoulder. "Why did you do that?"

"It was a far cry from holding hands with Tun, was it not?" he questioned, looking intently at her.

"Yes," Gúthwyn muttered, scowling as she massaged her shoulder. "But what does that have to do with—"

"That," Cobryn told her, "is the difference between making love and being raped."

It was several seconds before his words registered in her mind, and when they did she still could not make sense of them. "W-What?" she stammered, gaping at him. "What are you talking about?"

"You liked holding hands with Tun because you trusted him—loved him, even, if I am not mistaken—and because it was something you mutually agreed to do," Cobryn explained. "Yet when I held your hand, you had quite the opposite reaction. Why is that?"

"Because you practically broke my arm!" Gúthwyn exclaimed. "You did not even give me a warning, either, and then you would not stop when I… when I told you to…" She trailed off, the throbbing in her shoulder intensifying as the meaning of Cobryn's brutal example became clear.

"Is the same not true for what Haldor did to you?" Cobryn asked quietly. "Replace your arm with your spirit, and the results are interchangeable."

Gúthwyn's face was beet red as she spluttered, "Making love is not remotely comparable to holding hands!"

"Of course not," Cobryn agreed; "but what I just did to you—as opposed to what holding hands is supposed to be—is certainly comparable to the difference between what you went through and what you should have experienced with someone who loved you."

Gúthwyn was frozen in place, struggling to comprehend the meaning of Cobryn's words. She could not imagine feeling what she felt while holding hands—that is, nothing—during the act of making love. Instead, the sensations that came to mind were pain, discomfort, and humiliation. The ache between her legs the following day.

"Gúthwyn," Cobryn said, putting a comforting hand on her shoulder, "you _can _experience pleasure on your wedding night. You just need to overcome your fears."

"I cannot do that," she whispered weakly, trying to envision consummating a marriage with Borogor. Even with the man who loved her, whom she loved in turn with all her heart, she could only think of it as a necessary evil.

"You are not giving yourself enough credit," Cobryn told her sternly. "You have conquered your fears before, and you can do so again."

"I just want a child," Gúthwyn choked out, overwhelmed by feelings of helplessness and hopelessness. "Is that so much to ask?"

"Perhaps, if you marry, you will conceive swiftly," Cobryn murmured, gently squeezing her shoulder when she started weeping.

"I-I think w-we both know that my husband w-would not want to stop m-making love after having a child," Gúthwyn said bitterly. "A-And what right or reason would I have to deny him?"

"I will not let you marry a man who would value his gratification over your comfort," Cobryn swore, his grip on her shoulder tightening.

Gúthwyn gave a strangled laugh. "Then I will never find a husband," she said, "and I will never be a mother." The thought chilled her to the bone. She could not repress an image of herself, old and alone, watching enviously as Éowyn and Éomer's families expanded—her own chances at similar happiness long gone, with nothing left for her but to play the increasingly useless role of a caring aunt.

Cobryn was silent for a moment, before saying, "Earlier you told me that the scales had not yet tipped in favor of having a child… but now it seems as if the opposite is true."

"Because it is true!" Gúthwyn cried in frustration. "Or, at least, it is in theory. Yet I am too afraid to put it into practice."

"Perhaps—" Cobryn began, but Gúthwyn had had enough.

"Please," she interrupted, vehemently shaking her head, "I cannot discuss this any further. Not now."

Cobryn opened his mouth to argue, but changed his mind when he saw the look upon her face. Instead, he held her as she succumbed to tears once more.

* * *

><p>The following afternoon found Cobryn taking a long walk throughout Emyn Arnen, needing fresh air and solitude in order to ruminate upon his conversation with Gúthwyn. He felt horrible for her, especially because she was painfully aware of the constraints of her situation—she knew all too well that she would have to decide between children and chastity, and that she would have to make a sacrifice no matter what she chose.<p>

Part of him wished that she had married earlier, if only so she would have had a child by now; but, as she had pointed out, no husband was likely to understand her aversion to love-making. _Which is why you need to _tell_ him, Gúthwyn,_ he thought, sighing.

As to the matter of a husband, however, there were hardly any candidates left. His friend's prospects were slim to nonexistent; moreover, she had yet to love anyone since Borogor. In that sense, he understood her reluctance to wed: he himself had no wish to take another wife, not after Feride.

A wave of sorrow threatened to wash over him, but he steeled himself to forget her grey eyes and guarded smile. _Focus on the matter at hand,_ he ordered himself.

He needed to think of a way to solve Gúthwyn's problem, if his friend was to have any chance of happiness as the years went on. At the crux of the matter was her fear of another man's touch—yet how could he help her with that? Even with his rather unorthodox demonstration, he had been unable to get through to her. She truly believed that love-making was as unpleasant an experience as rape, and that marriage was no better than a form of slavery.

Yet without those things, she could not have children. The desperation in her eyes yesterday had frightened Cobryn; he feared that she was not far from wedding another just to obtain that which she so desired. This would make her vulnerable, an easy picking for any man who might decide that the benefits of her connections outweighed the pitfalls of her reputation. Driven by her need for children—that was what it had become at this point, a need—her judgment might lapse and cause her to settle for someone who did not have her best interests in mind.

Unbidden, Nanaendis's advice returned to his thoughts. She was certainly not the first person to suggest a union between him and Gúthwyn: Éomer had advocated for such a match on a couple of occasions, and he himself had already proposed to her. Granted, his intent back then had only been to ensure that she was not forced into a loveless marriage; and she had declined, choosing instead to endure whichever man her brother's council picked for her.

Wedding with the explicit goal of producing children, however… that was another story. If she agreed to the arrangement, they would have to make love; there would be no avoiding it. He could not even begin to imagine what it would be like with her, what it would be like with a woman who trembled at his touch and would rather be anywhere but beneath him. No matter how much she desired children, it was too close to rape for his comfort.

_There must be another way,_ he thought, shaking his head. He should not have been contemplating Nanaendis's idea in the first place: it felt wrong, as if he ought to have asked Gúthwyn's permission beforehand.

_But how is it wrong?_ part of him wondered. _If you were to marry Gúthwyn—if she agreed to become your wife—she would never have to fear being obliged to make love against her will. Once she conceived, the intimacy would end; there would be no difference between your friendship now and your marriage then, save that you would share the same quarters. And, of course, the two of you would live in Rohan, so she would not be taken from her home._

All things considered, it was a better offer than Gúthwyn might otherwise expect to receive. What were the odds of her finding a man who would overlook the rumors of her past, who would not be repelled by the necessity of providing for Hammel and Haiweth? Someone who was not an opportunist, someone who truly loved her. A man who did not subscribe to the barbaric notion of wifely duties. Someone who either lived in Rohan already or would be willing to do so—or visit extensively—in the future. And all this, before Gúthwyn paid heed to her own desires.

He was well aware that she had none for him; the feeling, or lack thereof, was mutual. _I may have all the other qualities she is hoping for,_ he thought,_ but a marriage of convenience is a poor substitute for one of love._

However, if a marriage of convenience was the only prospect Gúthwyn had, it was either that or nothing. She was running out of time: likely less than seven years were left for her to come to terms with the necessity of making love, for her to even find a man whom she was willing to marry. If she did not succeed, if she could not bring herself to give her heart to anyone, then without a back-up plan she was looking at a barren life.

"A back-up plan," he murmured to himself, interestedly mulling the term over. _Which is what you would be._ A seed of an idea had planted itself in his mind, burrowing deeper and deeper with each passing second; and, try though he might, he could not hinder its growth.

The problem with Nanaendis's suggestion lay in its implied immediacy—that he and Gúthwyn should marry each other sooner, rather than later. And while Cobryn was willing to do just about anything for his friend, he had an innate aversion to the idea of procreating with her. She was practically his sister, and, more importantly, she was not Feride. This was to say nothing of how frightened Gúthwyn would be of him, no matter how much she wanted the children that would result from their union.

What if, however, he proposed to her with a caveat: that they would wait to see if another offer came along? If, say, he promised to ask her for her hand in marriage—but only after a certain number of years had gone by, without her finding anyone else, and on the condition that she would rather have children than chastity? He would essentially be giving her security, a guarantee that she would have the opportunity to conceive if she so desired. Without it, she would become increasingly desperate; but with it, she would have a few years to breathe.

_Are you ready for the consequences of such an arrangement?_ he asked himself. It was easy enough to consider marrying Gúthwyn when he only had her interests in mind; after all that she had been through, there was little he would not do to ensure her happiness. It may have been too late for himself, but he had seen her make the first hesitating steps towards recovery—and she wanted it, that was the thing, even though she was terrified of it. If he could help her along that road, it was enough for him.

What he was on the brink of now, however, was far beyond anything he had ever done for her. Even in the past, when he had offered to marry her, it had been with the expectation that their relationship would not change in the slightest: he would just sleep on the floor, and no intimacy—aside from the occasional public pretense—would occur. This time around, it would be required.

It frightened him more than he cared to admit. Feride was the only woman he had ever been with, or wanted to be with. In the years since Isengard, he satisfied any carnal urges the old-fashioned way: late at night and by himself. It was not the same, but he would not countenance the alternative. And now, to imagine sleeping with Gúthwyn… As much as he cared for her, the idea was repulsive.

Yet he would rather volunteer himself for the job than watch as Gúthwyn married someone whom she did not love, who perhaps was using her for her connections to the king of Rohan and the prince of Ithilien. He would rather grit his teeth and endure an act humiliating to both of them, for a hopefully brief period until she became pregnant, than watch as she resigned herself to a lifetime of unwanted advances from a clueless husband. He would rather have a child with her, than spend the rest of his life alone.

That last thought made him stop short. _What on Middle-earth…?_ he wondered, alarmed.

"Cobryn!"

Gúthwyn's cheerful voice rang in his ears, drawing him from his musings. He glanced up to see his friend approaching, a bounce in her step and a grin on her face. Today she had abandoned her customary grey gown in favor of a light blue piece, one that brought out her eyes.

"Someone is in a good mood today," he remarked, curious.

"It is a beautiful afternoon," Gúthwyn said simply, inhaling the fresh air. "Not that you would appreciate it, since you have been staring at that bench for the past minute." She kicked her foot in the direction of the aforementioned seat, which Cobryn had hardly even noticed.

"I was thinking," he defended himself.

"Oh? Of what?" Gúthwyn asked, smirking. "You are done with sheep reports, so it cannot have been that… The Corsairs of Umbar?" she guessed, alluding to the book she had seen him with yesterday.

"I did just read a fascinating passage about the building of their ships… which I would share with you, but I know you would be bored to death within seconds," he teased her. It never ceased to amaze him how completely uninterested Gúthwyn was in anything remotely scholarly.

Gúthwyn agreed unabashedly. "I expect Hammel will provide a better audience. I just saw him, working his way through one of those horrendously long books you gave him—he told me it was about the history of trade routes throughout Gondor. I mean, really, do people have nothing better to write about?"

Ah, so that was the real reason for her good mood: she had had some semblance of a conversation with Hammel, which apparently had not ended in a shouting match.

"Believe it or not, Gúthwyn, some—such as your brother, and all his advisors—pay close attention to what those 'people' have to say," Cobryn replied, inwardly marveling at her obliviousness. As irritating as it was sometimes, in other ways it was one of the things he liked the most about her. She knew that she was not as learned as a woman of her status was expected to be, and she made no effort to pretend otherwise; it was refreshingly unaffected.

"Yes, well," Gúthwyn grumbled. "I maintain that whoever wrote that book would be a terrible dinner guest."

Cobryn could only shake his head. "You are certainly unique, my friend."

And it was true. No matter how frustrating Gúthwyn was, no matter how stubborn or childish she could be, there was no woman like her in all of Middle-earth. Who else could be so tenacious, so aggravating, and yet inspire such love and loyalty? Who else could juggle such conflicting personalities—the fragile exterior, the iron core buried deep within her—and not break from the strain?

"What is it?" Gúthwyn asked, trying to be annoyed yet unable to conceal the amusement in her eyes.

"What is what?" Cobryn replied automatically, somewhat disconcerted by his own thoughts.

"You were staring off into space," she told him, raising an eyebrow. "I did not realize that my company was so boring!"

She winked at him, and he knew better than to believe that she was offended.

"Well," he said, pretending to sigh, secretly glad that she had no idea what he was really thinking about, "as entertaining as you are sometimes, you are no scholarly treatise…"

She shoved him, but when he hardly budged she gave up and slung an arm around his shoulders. "We need to find you a hobby," she declared as he tensed, vividly aware of her fingertips curling into his skin. "Anything that involves _learning_ does not count. Or teaching, for that matter."

Gúthwyn was one of those people who was always touching: a gentle squeeze of someone's hand, a palm laid briefly on their arm, a sudden hug, a kiss on the forehead if they were family. She naturally reached out to others, yet shrank back when all but a few tried to do the same to her. He was one of those few, and he wished he were not. It was troubling how easily she had let her defenses down for him; she casually, almost carelessly, doled out what he had treasured with Feride.

_This is what you will have to endure if you propose to Gúthwyn and she accepts,_ he reminded himself. If they married, they would be expected to go through the motions of a happy couple: holding hands, wrapping an arm around the other person's waist… maybe even the occasional kiss.

"Really, Cobryn, what on Middle-earth has you so preoccupied today?" Gúthwyn asked, her arm still draped across his shoulders.

A woman passing by gave them a strange look. Cobryn inwardly groaned and, gently, shrugged out of Gúthwyn's reach. Trying to ignore the confused, and somewhat hurt, expression on her face, he said, "We should not provide fodder for gossip."

As Gúthwyn's gaze landed on the woman, a flash of anger marred her features. "I am so sick of this," she muttered, every last vestige of her good mood evaporating. "Excuse me, I am off to go prostitute myself or whatever it is she now thinks that I am guilty of." She began turning away.

"Gúthwyn—" Cobryn said, taken aback by the vehemence of her reaction.

"You know something?" Gúthwyn asked, briefly turning to face him again. "As much as I despise being away from Rohan, I have enjoyed not having every aspect of my personal life turned into a scandal. I thought it would be different here, that I would have a chance at a fresh start. But now I see that I was wrong, and that I still cannot show affection to a friend without raising eyebrows. I wonder what it is about being unmarried that makes others feel entitled to scrutinize my every action!"

Her lips trembled, and for a moment he thought she was going to cry. With a mighty effort, however, she regained control of herself. "Excuse me," she repeated, and hurried away.

Cobryn watched her go with a sigh, wishing he had been quicker to come up with some other explanation for his distracted state. He had not meant to open an old wound for her, a wound that was continually picked at by ravenous gossipers.

_Another reason for you to propose to her,_ he thought, sinking down onto the bench. Gúthwyn would never be able to shake off all of the rumors, but a marriage would quell most of them. She would be granted a certain immunity, a certain measure of respect, that she could not have as a single woman.

If they married… If they married, it would be made clear that she had not conceived before the wedding. They would fake the blood on the sheets to make it look as if she had been a virgin. The servants would talk; word of her purity would spread. There would always be whispers, but that was all they could be when the evidence said otherwise.

He exhaled, burying his face in his hands. Logically speaking, a union between him and Gúthwyn was perfectly sensible. In fact, it probably should have happened long ago. Yet even with a man such as Cobryn, logic could only go so far in matters of the heart. If he could not convince himself that what he was doing was right, then he could not in good conscience enter into a betrothal with her.

_What do _you _want?_ he asked himself, only to receive an immediate answer: _Feride._

But Feride was gone, and there was no use in longing for something that could never be. He had to look to the future, not dwell in the past—advice he gave so frequently to Gúthwyn, and just as frequently ignored when it came to his own life.

_We both need a fresh start,_ he realized, recalling Gúthwyn's words to him. _We both have loved and lost; we both are struggling to move on._

A chance at a new beginning, a chance at having children… Cobryn's stomach clenched at the thought. He had never known the joys, or even the pains, of being a father; he had never had the opportunity to teach his son or daughter how to read and write, how to add and subtract, how to wield a blade with deadly precision. He had had so many plans with Feride… and then he had watched them crumble into the dust of broken dreams.

With Gúthwyn, however, maybe he could try again. Maybe they both could.

It was a traitorous thought, but he found that he could not dismiss it.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** I'm very sorry to announce this, but the Rohan Pride Chronicles is officially on hiatus until June 1, 2012. I've struggled with writer's block on this story for at least a year now, if not more, and I need time to recoup and find new inspiration - which I think I'll be better able to do without the pressure of maintaining a posting schedule, as pathetic as my current one is. I very much apologize for the inconvenience and the irritation some of you must be feeling right now; to be honest, I'm just as upset with myself. I am cautiously optimistic, however, that this break will turn out to be what I needed to get back into gear.

Thank you all for staying with Gúthwyn for so long, and for frequently taking the time to review and let me know your thoughts about her story. I understand if you're disappointed enough to leave; but I hope some of you are willing to wait. I am truly sorry that it had to come to this.

Until June 1st,

- anolinde


	73. A Proposal of Sorts

**A/N:** The Rohan Pride Chronicles is officially back! I hope you all enjoy this first post-hiatus chapter. =)

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Seventy-Three<strong>

Gúthwyn was sitting beside the window in her room, basking in the afternoon sunlight and writing a letter to Éomer, when a knock on the door distracted her from an anecdote involving one of Éowyn's mood swings and a hapless Faramir. "Come in," she called, lowering her quill.

Her visitor turned out to be none other than Cobryn, who stepped inside and closed the door behind him. A somewhat unusual action, she thought—normally he left it open, precluding any gossip that might otherwise begin circulating.

"Good afternoon, my friend." She smiled at him and added teasingly, "I am honored that you have set aside your books and spared some time for me."

A hint of a grin tugged at Cobryn's lips as he pulled up a chair. "Yes, well, I am temporarily in between books and I thought it would do some good to stretch my legs. I went to the training grounds first, but you were not there."

Gúthwyn shook her head. She found it difficult to practice without Cobryn, even though Galen and his friends were reasonably accommodating. She was still uncomfortable around the majority of Faramir's Rangers, which meant that she had not been able to take solace in wielding a blade for quite some time. Nor was she willing to train at night: the moon did not shine as brightly upon Emyn Arnen as it did upon Edoras, and she was less familiar with her surroundings. She was certainly not about to take any chances.

"I have been writing a letter to Éomer," she explained, gesturing towards the parchment. "He remains as silent as ever about the state of his marriage."

She glanced somewhat nervously at Cobryn, hoping that he would not revive their long-standing argument, but when he opened his mouth it was not to discuss Lothíriel. "At least you will be able to properly interrogate him when Éowyn's child is born. And, speaking of marriage, there is something I wanted to talk to you about."

Gúthwyn knit her brow. "Go on," she said slowly. She could not quite put her finger on it, yet something in Cobryn's expression hinted that this was not a light matter.

"I have been thinking about what you told me a week ago." When Gúthwyn frowned, Cobryn elaborated: "about your increased inclination towards marriage."

Gúthwyn bit her lip, but did not say anything. She supposed that "increased inclination" was the right way of putting it. Ever since her last conversation with Nanaendis, the topic of marriage had not been far from her thoughts. More frequently than ever before, she was contemplating whether she should not try to find someone—though her fears always managed to drown out this fledgling voice.

Cobryn took a deep breath and announced, "I have thought of a possible solution to your troubles."

Whatever Gúthwyn had been expecting her friend to say, it was certainly not _that_; for a moment, she was so taken aback that she could only gape at him like a particularly unintelligent fish out of water. "You—you what?"

Cobryn pulled up a chair beside her. "I should not say that _I_ have thought of it," he admitted. "In truth, it was Nanaendis who gave me the idea. And even so, it is hardly a novel solution."

"Y-You spoke to Nanaendis?" Gúthwyn asked, now more confused than ever. She tried to ignore the hope that was starting to rise within her, for surely her problems could not be so easily resolved.

Shaking his head, Cobryn explained, "You were the one who told me about her suggestion."

Gúthwyn had no idea what he was talking about, and told him as such.

"Do you remember when my name came up in your conversation?"

Éomund's daughter raked through her memories. "Yes," she eventually answered, frowning in thought. "She said that we should…" That was when it dawned on her, and she drew in a sharp breath. "Cobryn, are you—is this—?"

Cobryn nodded. "It is."

For a moment, the silence in the room was so loud that Gúthwyn could not think over it; there was only a persistent buzzing where her thoughts should have been. She was left floundering for words, struggling to form a coherent response.

"A-A marriage pro… proposal?" she finally stammered, scarcely able to breathe. Perhaps she was dreaming, and she would wake up in a few minutes to find him poking at her with his cane and telling her that there was somewhere she needed to be.

"Perhaps not a very traditional one," Cobryn amended, closely monitoring her reaction. "In fact, it is… more of a back-up plan."

Gúthwyn's heart began to slow—this did not sound like an unexpected admission of romantic feelings—yet she still could not grasp what he meant by "proposal." "I-I do not understand."

"The more I thought about Nanaendis's advice, the more it made sense," Cobryn explained. He drew his chair closer to her, perhaps because he had noticed how rapid her breathing had become. "You want children, but you do not know if you will find a husband in time—in fact, you do not know if you even want a husband, and you must make that decision before you set about looking for one. Perhaps, under those conditions, you will not be able to conceive."

Gúthwyn paled, overwhelmed by both her turbulent emotions and the grimness of Cobryn's words. "Are you saying that I have already run out of time?" she asked, horrified.

"Nay, not yet," Cobryn assured her; "but you have a limited window of opportunity before it is too late. Which brings me to my proposal."

Gúthwyn's mind was still wrapped around the word "proposal"; all she could do was nod numbly.

"If you are agreeable to this solution," Cobryn told her, "then, on your thirty-second birthday, I will ask for your hand in marriage—provided that your desire for children outweighs your fear of a husband, and that there is no other man whom you would wed. With any luck, our union will produce the children you want, without the accompanying fear of continued intimacy."

By now, Gúthwyn had finally recovered something resembling speech. "Cobryn, I-I could not ask such a thing of you," she managed, scarcely able to comprehend how much he was prepared to sacrifice on her behalf. "I know you do not wish to marry—"

"Neither do you," Cobryn pointed out. "Perhaps this is the only way it will be tolerable for both of us."

"But what have you to gain from this?" Gúthwyn asked in bewilderment, trying to ignore how tempting his offer—namely, the security that came along with it—suddenly seemed.

Cobryn hesitated, then admitted, "I cannot pretend that I am acting entirely out of selflessness."

"What do you mean?" Gúthwyn demanded warily.

"You are not the only one who wants the chance to be a parent," Cobryn said, his eyes clouding over with sorrow.

Gúthwyn drew in a sharp breath. "You… you have desired children, all this time?" she questioned, stunned. She knew that he still had not recovered from the loss of his and Feride's son or daughter, but she had never suspected that he had wanted to try again… nor had he given any indicator of it.

"Every day, I think of the child Feride and I might have had," Cobryn confessed, his words laden with regret. It was, for Gúthwyn, a rare glimpse of vulnerability, one of the few times he had laid bare his emotions. "Every day, I wonder what kind of a father I would have been. What sort of lessons I would have taught him or her. How Feride and I would have resolved the disputes I have witnessed you navigating with Hammel and Haiweth."

"You never said anything," Gúthwyn whispered, horror-struck. To think of her mourning her childlessness, when Cobryn did not even have the luxury of pretending that he had filled such a void.

"It is my burden to bear," Cobryn replied stiffly, avoiding her gaze.

"No, it is not," Gúthwyn insisted. Leaning over and gripping his hand, she told him, "You have always been there for me, whether I wanted you or not. My debt to you is immeasurable, and it is time I began paying some of it back."

"Gúthwyn…" He could not finish the sentence.

"I accept your marriage proposal," Gúthwyn said softly.

For a moment, Cobryn's expression did not change. At last, he gently took her hand and removed it from his own. "Are you doing this for yourself, or because you would see me a father?"

"Both," Gúthwyn responded, steadily meeting his gaze. "Same as you."

He stared intently at her, searching for any sign that she was merely placating him. When he found none, he clasped her hand in his own and said quietly, "So be it."

In that instant, all of Gúthwyn's fears were overpowered by a crushing wave of relief. She embraced her friend tightly, almost weeping for joy. She would have children—Cobryn would be a father—Her knees buckled under the weight of her emotions, and Cobryn had to grab her to prevent her from falling.

"Are you all right?" he asked, his voice constricted.

Gúthwyn shushed him, practically bawling at this point. What did it matter if they were not in love with each other? He knew her better than anyone, he already cared for Hammel and Haiweth, they would be able to live in Rohan—by the Valar, she would be able to see Éomer and Elfwine every day again—and, on top of that, she would not have to perform her wifely duties after conceiving. Cobryn's offer had exceeded her wildest dreams, granting her boons far and beyond what she had ever imagined getting out of marriage.

"C-Can you imagine what Éowyn and Éomer w-would say if they were here?" she finally managed, laughing through her tears. "A-After so many years—"

"Remember, you may yet find love," Cobryn cautioned her.

"What if I do not want to wait?" Gúthwyn suddenly blurted out, thinking only of how long it would be until her thirty-second birthday.

Cobryn pulled back, frowning. "Gúthwyn, patience is not one of your virtues," he told her, though not unkindly. "I want you to have the chance to fall in love."

"And what are the odds of me doing that?" Gúthwyn asked desperately. "Even if I did, what sort of a man would have me? I squandered all my prospects long ago."

"No man could ask for a more kindhearted, caring, passionate wife," Cobryn told her seriously. "Nor could he ask for a better, more loving, more devoted mother for his children. Your recommendations are many—and any man with half a brain will see that."

"You are too kind, I fear," Gúthwyn murmured, flushing. "I could outshine all the women of Dol Amroth in every ladylike talent and my reputation would still overshadow my accomplishments. Why wait for a man who will overlook the scandals—a mythical creature, to be sure—when we could have the family we both want perhaps as soon as a year or two from now?"

"Gúthwyn, I will not ask you for your hand in marriage until your thirty-second birthday," Cobryn said sternly. "Of that, I can assure you."

"Why then?" Éomund's daughter pressed, too enthralled by her newfound certainty of becoming a mother to care that she sounded childish. "Why wait so long?"

"Because you still have time," Cobryn answered. "Time to marry a man who makes your heart race every time you look at him, a man who will give you what you could have had with Borogor. I love you, Gúthwyn, but I am not in love with you—and you know full well how vast the difference is. I do not want you rushing into a marriage with me because it is the easiest way to have children; this is not a decision that can be undone."

Gúthwyn sighed, biting the insides of her cheeks in frustration. "You are probably right," she conceded ruefully. "As usual."

Cobryn gave her a wry smile. "I originally thought it would be best to wait until you were thirty-three," he admitted, "but my desire for a long engagement won out."

"A long engagement?" Gúthwyn repeated, knitting her brow.

"A very pointedly nine-months-long engagement," Cobryn elaborated with a smirk, "just to trample upon the most vindictive gossip of your ill-wishers at the washing circles—and to deny them their fullest satisfaction."

Gúthwyn burst into laughter. "Thank you, my friend," she said between giggles, embracing him again. "I feel almost guilty, depriving them of such a pleasure."

"Do you really?" Cobryn asked when they separated.

Gúthwyn briefly considered. "No," she decided with an impish grin. "But," she added, more thoughtfully, "I am somewhat curious… What does this make us? Not betrotheds, surely?"

Cobryn contemplated the matter. "More like, engaged to be betrothed," he said. "Tentatively."

Gúthwyn mulled his words over in her mind, trying to reconcile such previously terrifying terms—betrothal, marriage—with the future she was looking at with Cobryn. She could not even begin to imagine making love to him, but something inside of her was refusing to let her dwell on such a thought. Nay, what mattered now was that she had security. Regardless of what the next few years held in store for her, she would be a mother.

"Thank you," was all she managed before she broke down in tears.

* * *

><p>Over the next week, Gúthwyn was in such a good mood that she thought she might explode from trying to keep it all in. Every time she saw Cobryn, she had to struggle to conceal a grin; but at night, when she was alone in bed, it broke out with unstoppable force. She could barely sleep anymore, not when her mind was afire with bliss.<p>

She managed to stop herself from planning every last detail of their possible life together, such as the inevitable ordeal of sleeping arrangements, but she could not dispel the delight she took in knowing that they would make their home in Edoras. After the obligation of wifely duties, this had been a chief concern of hers: that a marriage would sunder her forever from her home. Now, however, she would be able to live out the rest of her days in Rohan.

Her happiness did not go unnoticed.

"Confess, baby sister," Éowyn ordered her one morning, as the two of them were finishing an enjoyable ride through the forest. "You have been all smiles for the past couple of days. What is going on?"

"Nothing," Gúthwyn lied, feigning surprise. "I do not think I have been smiling any more than usual."

"Not only smiling, but humming," Éowyn replied pointedly. "I heard you yesterday when I walked by your room."

"Since when did humming become such a suspicious activity?" Gúthwyn asked innocently, leaning over and patting Sceoh.

Éowyn lifted an eyebrow. "Since I do not remember the last time I saw you so joyful," she answered. "Not while you have been here, at any rate."

Gúthwyn opened her mouth to protest, but Éowyn waved the attempt away. "I cannot be angry with you for preferring Rohan over Ithilien. I know your home is not in the forest—when Elfhelm and the others left you here, it was as if the light had gone out of you."

"Sorry," Gúthwyn apologized, flushing. She regretted being so transparent: it was a slight to her sister. "I did not mean—"

"Think nothing of it," Éowyn replied firmly. "I would just like to know what has altered your mood so drastically."

Again, Gúthwyn bent down to rub Sceoh; this time, however, it was so that her sister would not see her flaming cheeks. "Nothing," she said, laughing a little. "Really. I do not feel any different than usual."

"Nay," Éowyn disagreed, "something has changed about you."

Now fighting tooth and nail not to grin, Gúthwyn shrugged her shoulders. "If it has, I am none the wiser."

Éowyn decided not to pursue the matter, though the expression on her face warned Gúthwyn that she had not stopped wondering. "Now, tell me, sister," she said after a moment of silence: "are you looking forward to meeting King Thranduil next week?"

Gúthwyn felt her good mood begin to ebb away. "I had forgotten about that," she admitted quietly. She was certain that Legolas's father would find nothing favorable about her.

"Are you nervous?" Éowyn asked gently.

"I suppose," Gúthwyn mumbled, sighing.

"One cannot help but consider themselves inferior, sometimes, if they are a mortal in the presence of an Elf so magnificent," Éowyn mused, smiling sympathetically at her. "Yet soon, you simply feel as if you are in great company which does not diminish your own worth."

Gúthwyn doubted that she would ever be at ease while seated at the same table as King Thranduil—not to mention a whole host of other Elves—and she told Éowyn as much. "He has probably heard all of the rumors about me," she remarked morosely.

"How? I doubt Legolas would have repeated the gossip."

"I do not believe he has," Gúthwyn said cautiously. She was gradually beginning to see that Legolas was far more trustworthy than she had once given him credit for, and she was ashamed of herself for not having coming to that realization sooner. "However, any one of his companions could have informed his father about me." Raniean came to mind: as someone who both hated her and was, according to Legolas, close with Thranduil, he was a prime candidate.

Éowyn pursed her lips in thought. "It seems to me, from what little I know of their ways, that Elves do not care for petty gossip such as Men do. I would be surprised if any of Legolas's friends have ever paid heed to the ridiculous rumors about you and the children."

"I hope not," Gúthwyn said grimly. Dining with King Thranduil would be unpleasant enough without him suspecting her of harlotry and bearing two children out of wedlock.

"Have Hammel and Haiweth changed their minds about going?" Éowyn inquired, changing the subject.

Gúthwyn shook her head. "They have both refused, and I do not have the heart to try and convince them otherwise." Indeed, Hammel had told her in no uncertain terms that he did not want her to ever invite him on such an excursion again, and Haiweth had looked as if she had had half a mind to agree. While Gúthwyn did not blame them for their resistance, and she knew that Hammel was a lost cause, she had hoped—for Haiweth's sake—that she might sway the girl. Haiweth was still afraid of Legolas, and Gúthwyn desired desperately for her to at least grow accustomed to his presence. It was not, however, something that could happen by force.

"Perhaps, one day, they will come around," Éowyn told her.

"Perhaps," Gúthwyn replied. _Or perhaps not._

If truth be told, Éomund's daughter did not think that they ever would.


	74. Thranduil

**A/N:** So, apparently we can now upload story cover art? I tried uploading one for this story, we'll see how it goes (no idea if this site supports high resolution or not). It's a cover I threw together when I put this story on my Kindle, so it's probably not the greatest, but I do like the horse on it. =)

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><p><strong>Chapter Seventy-Four<strong>

Among other things, one of the drawbacks of Hammel and Haiweth not traveling to Legolas's colony was the fact that Cobryn had to remain behind with them. Gúthwyn was already missing her friend—her _engaged to be betrothed_, she thought to herself, with a rush of excitement and a grin that she had to bite back—as she rode out of Emyn Arnen, dutifully following Éowyn and Faramir.

The journey was uneventful, but she had too much time to think about what Thranduil would be like and, as a result, she was a bundle of nerves by the time they reached their destination. Even thoughts of Cobryn were not enough to distract her from the terrifying reality of meeting Legolas's father. She envisioned horrible scenarios of him interrogating her about the rumors he would surely have heard, and then pronouncing her unfit for his table.

"By the Valar, baby sister, anyone would believe that you are riding not to dinner, but to an execution!" Éowyn said lightly at one point, though with a real note of concern underlying her words.

Gúthwyn did not respond: she was struggling to manage Sceoh, who had grown skittish under his anxious master.

As evening began to close in on the forest, they entered the colony and guided their horses towards the main dwelling. Gúthwyn did not want to look at the nearby Elves any more than she had to, yet she could not help but think that they were watching her. Which was ridiculous, of course, since they were obviously merely observing the procession in its passing; nevertheless, she flinched whenever she glanced up into a tree and saw a pair of eyes glittering back at her.

When they reached Legolas's home, Trelan was on hand to greet them. Gúthwyn felt a surge of relief as he welcomed Éowyn and Faramir: here, at least, was someone familiar. She could not say that she trusted him, but she vastly preferred him to Raniean.

"Lady Gúthwyn," Trelan said politely, drawing her attention.

She inclined her head, hoping that the calm gesture concealed her rattling nerves. "H-Hello, Trelan," she replied, dismounting from Sceoh.

"This is your first time meeting Legolas's father, is it not?" Trelan asked conversationally, his voice light amidst the hustle and bustle caused by the guests' arrival.

"Y-Yes, i-it is," Gúthwyn stammered. Why was Trelan being so friendly to her?

"Has Legolas told you much about him?" Trelan inquired, watching as she withdrew a carrot from one of her saddlebags and offered it to Sceoh. A carrot was not much compensation for the anxiety she had inflicted upon the horse, but it was nevertheless well received.

"Only that he is strict, but caring," Gúthwyn said guardedly. She feared her words being repeated to King Thranduil—why else would Trelan be going out of his way to speak with her?

_Perhaps he is just making small talk,_ a voice suggested.

_Or perhaps you should learn to keep your mouth shut,_ another part of her retorted.

Trelan sensed her unease, but did not realize that he was its source. "If you are intimidated by the king," he murmured quietly, "I can assure you: unless you have truly done something wrong, his bark is far worse than his bite."

Gúthwyn shot him a surprised glance. Was he trying to comfort her? Was her apprehension that obvious?

Noticing her confused expression, Trelan explained, "You seem nervous."

"I-I am not," Gúthwyn quickly replied. "I am just tired, that is all."

Trelan clearly saw through the lie, but he tactfully did not mention it. "Tonight's dinner shall rejuvenate your spirits," he promised, before bowing and slipping away.

Gúthwyn grimaced, having an entirely different opinion on the matter.

"Sister, are you ready to go in?" Éowyn inquired, materializing at her side. "You have nothing to worry about," she added in an undertone. "Faramir and I will be with you the whole time."

It was a mark of how much Gúthwyn did not want to meet King Thranduil that she actually saw Faramir's presence as a boon.

"I suppose there is nothing else for it," Gúthwyn sighed, instinctively cringing as an Elf stepped up to take Sceoh's reins.

Éowyn smiled consolingly and put an arm around her shoulders. "At the very least, there will be food," she pointed out, rubbing her swollen belly. "I am famished!"

"I am certain Legolas will provide enough for both of you," Gúthwyn teased her. The grin upon her face, however, was not in mirth—it was born out of excitement so potent she could almost choke on it. With any luck, in five years' time she, also, would be eating for two.

_Why did I not think of marrying Cobryn sooner?_ she wondered, ignoring the answer that began and ended with Haldor.

As Éowyn chuckled, oblivious to Gúthwyn's actual thoughts, Faramir appeared beside them. "Shall we?" he asked, gesturing towards where Trelan was waiting to bring them into the dwelling.

"We shall," Éowyn replied, beaming.

Gúthwyn felt her throat run dry.

* * *

><p>Trelan did not take them to the porch where they had dined on Gúthwyn's first visit to the colony. Nor did he escort them in through one of the side doors, which opened into the passages that ran around the outer edges of the building. Instead, he walked them up to the main doors, which, Gúthwyn remembered, led to a great hall. She had rarely ventured inside it during her last stay, and for good reason: there was always a congregation of Elves inside, too many for her comfort.<p>

Now, Trelan nodded to the guards stationed outside, and the doors began to open. Gúthwyn strained to catch a glimpse of the depths beyond, and more importantly of Legolas's father. Her curiosity gorged off of her fears until, united, they throbbed within her chest; and she felt sick to her stomach as the entrance hall came into view.

She had half-expected there to be a crowd of Elves, and was relieved to discover that the room's occupants were few. They were mostly standing off to the side, quietly awaiting their guests. Her good fortune did not last long, however, for the relative emptiness meant that she could see, unhindered, to the end of the hall… to where Legolas and King Thranduil were standing.

Gúthwyn had, on occasion, heard bits and pieces of the stories told by Bilbo Baggins during her time at Rivendell—tales which had since been added to, and sometimes gently corrected, by Legolas. The Elvenking before her was the same Elvenking who had imprisoned Bilbo's Dwarven companions, and who had marched on the Lonely Mountain with the intent of making war upon Thorin. Despite the way he had treated the Dwarves, however, Bilbo insisted that Thranduil was "a very decent sort of fellow when it came down to it."

She prayed now that this was the case, for the Elf at Legolas's side was at once taller, sterner, and more intimidating than she had ever imagined him. He rose above even Legolas; whether by his natural height or by his bearing, Gúthwyn could not tell. He, too, had golden hair which seemed to shine of its own accord, and which was braided in a fashion similar to his son's. His eyes, however, were different: not the unsettlingly deep blue that Gúthwyn was gradually growing accustomed to, but a steely grey color that was equally unnerving to behold. Also unlike Legolas, who was the epitome of youthfulness and appeared to have within him a fountain of ceaseless energy, Thranduil's features showed an Elf of many years. Even though his skin was smooth and free of the lines which eventually sunk into mortal flesh, there was… not quite a weariness, but something akin to it, lingering behind his gaze that hinted at the sorrows and trials of ages long past.

He was also staring at Gúthwyn, scrutinizing her as much as she was him—and yet more, for his gaze seemed to pierce through her physical appearance and reach into her very thoughts. She flinched, unable to endure the silent inspection, and shifted closer to Éowyn.

As if her retreat had broken a spell, Legolas stepped forward and greeted them. "My friends, welcome," he said warmly, bowing his head. "My father and I are most glad for your safe arrival."

"And glad we are to be here," Faramir replied, exchanging a smile with Éowyn.

"Prince Legolas, King Thranduil, it is a pleasure," Éowyn said, curtsying—an admirable feat this far into her pregnancy.

"Princess Éowyn, please, do not strain yourself on our account," King Thranduil said, his voice deeper than Gúthwyn had expected. "We are all friends here."

As the Elvenking spoke, Gúthwyn caught a glimpse of Raniean. The Elf was standing a few feet behind Legolas, his face dark as a thundercloud.

_Why are you dining with us, then, if you hate us so much?_ Gúthwyn wondered angrily.

Raniean quickly marked that he was being observed; and while there was no outward malice in his glance at her, she shivered at the coldness in his eyes.

"Father," Legolas said just then, causing her to start and remember that she was supposed to be paying attention to the formalities, "allow me to introduce you to Princess Éowyn's sister, Lady Gúthwyn of Rohan."

Gúthwyn obligingly dropped into a curtsy, inwardly berating her legs when they wobbled and betrayed her nervousness.

"Lady Gúthwyn, this is my father, King Thranduil," Legolas added, finishing the introduction.

"I-It is a pleasure t-to meet you, my lord," Gúthwyn stammered, inwardly groaning when she realized that she was just parroting Éowyn's earlier words.

"Nay, the pleasure is mine," Thranduil told her. "I have heard so much about you as to quite anticipate our meeting."

"Y-You have?" she questioned anxiously, unable to resist looking at Raniean again. Nothing about the Elf's features suggested that he had been the culprit, but—if Legolas's pained expression was any indicator—she had a sinking feeling that he was the artist behind a rather unflattering portrait of her.

"But of course," Thranduil said, smiling at her. Gúthwyn was not at all reassured. "My son thinks very highly of you."

Gúthwyn's wide eyes darted towards Legolas; she suspected that Thranduil was being courteous, rather than genuine, and she half-expected to see a wry grin on Legolas's face. Instead, however, he cleared his throat and glanced away, looking rather at Éowyn and Faramir. "Come, you all must be weary—and hungry—from your journey. Let us sit down and enjoy each other's company."

Gúthwyn noticed that, while Thranduil agreed, it was Legolas who gave the orders for the food to be brought out. She wondered if Legolas had full governance over the colony, or if he ultimately deferred to his father.

It seemed to be the latter, for Thranduil assumed the spot at the head of the table. Éowyn and Faramir were seated to his left, and Gúthwyn felt an uneasy twinge when she realized that she would be across from her sister—with only Legolas as a barrier between herself and King Thranduil.

"Allow me," Legolas murmured at her side, holding out her chair.

Gúthwyn lowered herself into the seat, though a quick glance towards the other end of the table made her flush: Raniean's sharp eyes had witnessed the entire interaction. "Thank you," she whispered, trying to avoid Raniean's heated stare.

With both guests and Elves situated, the meal could commence. Servants brought out numerous platters, setting them down upon the table and whipping off their covers with a flourish. Gúthwyn was relieved to note that there were a number of vegetable-based dishes, many of which had wound up relatively close to her. There was, however, an extremely large venison dish directly in front of King Thranduil, emitting odors so foul as to make her stomach turn over quite unpleasantly.

Her stomach was also none too pleased about the rest of the seating arrangements, which had Trelan on her right and Raniean directly across from him—making it even more difficult to feign ignorance to his animosity. She could practically feel the anger radiating off of him, and she wondered if Legolas had forced him to be here. Why else would he have attended?

Quickly, before Raniean saw her watching him, she turned her attentions elsewhere. There were yet more Elves beyond him and Trelan, some she recognized as Legolas's followers and others whom she guessed were part of Thranduil's entourage. Faramir's own escort was further down the table, his men looking rather out of place amongst the chattering immortals.

While she was examining the seating arrangements (and finding them thoroughly nerve-wracking), the conversation turned to Éowyn and her unborn child.

"Have you a guess as to whether you will be given a son or a daughter?" Thranduil inquired, smiling benignly at the White Lady.

"Nay, but we will be equally pleased with either," Éowyn assured him. Her right hand slipped under the table, joining with Faramir's. Gúthwyn observed them discreetly, thinking of the day when she might—for appearances' sake—have to do the same with Cobryn. She supposed it would not be so bad, holding hands: after all, they had done it before, though very rarely. It would likely be a harder exercise for him than for her.

"Have any names yet come to mind?" Thranduil asked, taking the first cut of meat from the platter. It was a silent signal for the rest of the table to begin serving themselves, and the clinking of silverware was soon added to the sounds of numerous conversations.

Éowyn and Faramir shook their heads. "I myself was not named until a week after my birth," Faramir said ruefully. "My mother and father disagreed on what they would call me; but, in the end, he submitted to her will."

"What would he have named you?" Thranduil asked, though softly: Gúthwyn supposed that he had heard of the fall of Denethor during the siege of Minas Tirith.

Faramir shook his head. "I never found out," he admitted.

"Hopefully we will not take so long to decide," Éowyn said, a slight twinge in her arm muscles suggesting that she was squeezing Faramir's hand. "Right now, however, we are content to wait."

"It may very well be that the name shall reveal itself upon your child's birth," Thranduil remarked, inclining his head.

"As was the case with Gúthwyn," Éowyn replied, smiling at the younger woman.

Gúthwyn flinched as she became the topic of conversation—something she had been hoping to avoid.

"What is the meaning of your name?" Thranduil asked her, his brow furrowing in curiosity.

A direct question from the Elvenking himself was enough to make Gúthwyn's hair stand on end. How was one even supposed to address such renowned royalty, much less when they were utterly terrified of his race? She instinctively glanced at Legolas, seeking some form of reassurance though she knew not what.

Legolas looked at her, smiling gently, a light in his eyes as if to say: _worry not_.

Or perhaps she was just seeing the reflection of one of the torches illuminating the hall.

"I-It is the n-name of one who delights in battle," she told King Thranduil, trembling under his inquisitive gaze.

"What a name to have given a child!" Thranduil marveled.

Though Gúthwyn perceived that his words did not hold any malice, her cheeks turned a deep red. Taking pity on her, Éowyn intervened and explained, "Not five minutes after she was born, our father came in to look upon her. He had just come from one of his patrols, and he was still outfitted as if for battle. Our mother thought that the sight of him would frighten an infant, and she bade him remove his armor and leave his sword at the door; but Gúthwyn cried out as if in delight, and she stretched her arms out towards the blade."

Gúthwyn blushed as the story was told, and those around her chuckled.

Legolas grinned, catching her eye. "How fitting."

"And prophetic," Thranduil added, "for Legolas has told me that you fought at the Battle of the Pelennor Fields alongside your sister."

"I-I did," Gúthwyn admitted, drawing her gaze from Legolas. "Though it was against the knowledge and without the permission of my uncle, who would have had me remain in Rohan."

Sometimes, she went for weeks without thinking of Théoden; but ever and anon the memories washed up, swirling amidst the eddies of regret. She had spurned him at their reunion, and there had not been enough time to heal the old wounds before he had perished at the hands of the Witch-king. Now both he and his son dwelt in the Halls of Mandos, and she would not see them again until the hour in which her spirit fled its bodily confines.

"I never had the honor of meeting King Théoden," Thranduil said gravely, "but it has been said that he fought bravely until the end, and that he took his place amongst the greatest of his forefathers."

Gúthwyn felt her eyes brimming with tears—not for Théoden, but for his son. Théodred, though a mighty warrior, had never set foot upon the throne; he had died too soon, before he had a chance to make a name for himself in the legends of her people.

"Are you all right?" Legolas whispered at her side, so quietly that she did not register it until she felt the gentle touch of his hand against her arm.

Quickly she nodded, blinking away the memories. "Y-Yes, thank you," she murmured back, noting uneasily that Thranduil was watching them.

"Lady Gúthwyn," the Elvenking spoke after a moment, "I understand that there are two young children in your care?"

The fact that he had phrased it in such a way—as opposed to implying that the children were hers—made Gúthwyn's spirits lift a little, if only because it seemed that Thranduil had believed the rumors about her no more than his son had. "Y-Yes," she said, nodding. "A-A boy and a girl, H-Hammel and Haiweth."

"How old are they?" Thranduil inquired.

"Hammel is seventeen, and Haiweth fourteen," Gúthwyn informed him, inwardly marveling—as she often did, these days—at Hammel's age. To her, he was still a boy; but to the rest of the world, he was on the cusp of manhood. Only his slight stature, perhaps, prevented him from fully being seen as such. Haiweth's maturity, she could not even contemplate.

"They are not with us tonight," Thranduil observed, and it was an unspoken question rather than a statement.

"N-No, my lord," Gúthwyn replied, flustered. "H-Haiweth is abed w-with a cold, and Hammel promised t-to stay by her side."

When Thranduil's eyebrows drew together, she added hastily, "I-I would not have left them myself, b-but for the assurances of our healer that it was a passing malady."

Faramir was frowning at her from across the table, knowing full well that there was no truth to her words; yet she ignored him, keeping her attention on Thranduil and hoping that the Elvenking had bought her lies. She could hardly afford to explain the real reason why Hammel and Haiweth had not accompanied her to the colony.

"I am sorry to hear that Haiweth is not well," Thranduil told her. "I had hoped to have the pleasure of meeting both her and her brother tonight. For Legolas tells me that you have willingly sacrificed much for them, though they are not of your own blood."

"They are all but," Gúthwyn replied softly, _though if it were Hammel's choice they would be strangers_.

"I find your actions commendable," Thranduil said to her. "Not many would have done the same. It is often a hard road to navigate when you raise someone else's children as your own, even though it be out of necessity."

Thranduil's words, while generous, were nevertheless a gross understatement. The hard road was more like a treacherous mountain pass, whose scenery and foliage would lull you into a sense of complacency before you found yourself hurtling down a precipitous drop towards a landing of sharp rocks.

As Gúthwyn inclined her head in acknowledgment of Thranduil's compliment, she noticed that Raniean was watching the king with the faintest indentation in his brow. He seemed to have sensed that something important was being said, though Gúthwyn knew that he would not have understood it—for she had never heard the Common Tongue fall from his lips, and her mercifully few interactions with him had shown her that he had never bothered to learn it.

Éowyn picked up the thread of the conversation from where Gúthwyn had faltered, saying with pride, "My sister has been an excellent mother to them, and they are both accomplished for their age."

"Alas, I cannot take credit for their talents," Gúthwyn demurred, shaking her head. "Hammel's intelligence he garnered through books, with the guidance of a wise friend of mine; and Haiweth's drawing abilities certainly did not come from me."

"Ever you seek to deny yourself praise," Legolas observed. "You have encouraged their interests, and that is no small thing."

Gúthwyn blushed at his praise, all the more so because it was under the eye of King Thranduil.

"It is clear that their education was in good hands," Thranduil remarked. "But what of yours, Lady Gúthwyn? Surely you must have had just as competent an instructor, if you in turn have been so successful with Hammel and Haiweth."

Gúthwyn glanced uneasily at Éowyn, but there was little the White Lady could say. "My uncle provided a tutor for me," she answered, nervously twisting her hands beneath the table, "and I learned what was expected of me for my position."

She could tell, just by looking at Thranduil, that her reply had been inadequate. "Reading, I presume?" he probed. "Writing, arithmetic, history, geography? Forgive me if I aim too low, for I am regrettably unfamiliar with what Men teach their children."

Gúthwyn was beginning to have the strangest feeling: that Thranduil was not making casual conversation, but was instead interrogating her for some unknown purpose. Had he subjected Éowyn and Faramir to such detailed inquiries, when they first dined with him? Why was he asking about her education?

Nevertheless, there was no way for her to bow gracefully out of the conversation without looking as if she had something to hide. "I was taught in all those things, though I fear my lessons in geography were wasted," she replied.

Thranduil laughed at this. "We all have our weaknesses," he replied. "Luckily, yours can easily be compensated for if you remember to bring a guide whenever you travel."

"Speaking of traveling," Legolas cut in quickly, "perhaps tomorrow we could ride out and spend the day at the waterfall. I am hoping to make amends for the way our last trip there ended."

He smiled at Gúthwyn, who—months after the fact—could now smirk at the memory.

"At least the water will be warmer, should anyone fall in," Éowyn said, winking at Gúthwyn.

Thranduil knit his brow in puzzlement. "Fall in?" he echoed, looking to Legolas for an explanation. Gúthwyn felt a shiver run through her spine as his cool grey eyes passed over her.

"I tried to show Lady Gúthwyn what it is like behind the waterfall at sunset," Legolas admitted, a rare flush stealing across his features. "We used the rock path, but it was slippery from the water and she lost her footing."

"I still do not understand how you two made it up there," Gúthwyn grumbled to Éowyn and Faramir.

"Clearly, we have better balance than you," Éowyn teased her.

"Legolas, have you really been leading your guests up that path?" Thranduil asked with a half-groan. "I thought we had this discussion after Aragorn met a similar fate."

"Aragorn fell, too?" Gúthwyn demanded delightedly. At least with the knowledge that a hardened Ranger of the North had been bested by the impossible trek, she did not have to be completely embarrassed about her clumsiness.

"And he dragged me in with him," Legolas replied, chuckling. "I still have not heard the end of it from some of my friends."

"You have to admit, it _was_ hilarious," Trelan sniggered, briefly abandoning his conversation with Raniean to throw a wicked grin at Legolas. "You bore a rather striking resemblance to a drowned rat. Not to mention, you were practically whining at Aragorn—something about always dragging you into things, both literally and figuratively…"

Although Gúthwyn had giggled at the mental image of Legolas looking like a drowned rat, she was distracted by the sight of Raniean. The Elf was glancing back and forth between Legolas and Trelan, a mildly amused expression on his face; but the sparkle in his eyes vanished the moment he noticed that Éomund's daughter was watching him. He pointedly turned away from her and engaged the Elf beside him in a conversation, one that Gúthwyn could not understand a word of.

Not for the first time, she wondered why Raniean hated her—and humans—so much. She momentarily frowned, thinking of Haldor; but surely no such thing had ever happened to Raniean. What, then, was his excuse? If it was not her imagination, he had become even surlier around her recently. What could she have possibly done to offend him?

Whatever his reasons were, however, she doubted that she would ever learn any of them.


	75. Noontime Interrogation

**Chapter Seventy-Five**

Gúthwyn gave a most undignified squeal as she stepped into the water, which, despite the fact that it was nearly summer, was still on the frigid side. It was not yet midday, and the sun had only just emerged over the treetops to shine down upon the waterfall and its pool. As a result, the line of ice against her calves where she had stopped her descent into the water was almost painfully cold.

"I knew there was a reason why I called you 'baby' sister," Éowyn said laughingly, following her into the water without so much as a gasp. "If my stomach were not so big as to making bending over out of the question, I would be splashing you right now."

Gúthwyn's eyes widened. "You would not!" she protested in alarm.

Éowyn smirked. "Come to think of it, I suppose kicking the water at you would work just as well," she mused—the only warning Gúthwyn had before a small wave sprayed up and sluiced across her legs.

"_Éowyn!_" Gúthwyn shrieked, darting away as fast as she could. She wound up performing an odd sort of leap, nearly tripping over herself as she landed. It was hardly fair, she inwardly grumbled: normally Éowyn's actions would have warranted a swift dunking, but she could hardly wrestle her sister into the water when she was seven months pregnant.

"You are such a child," Éowyn teased her, letting her foot hover just above the water's surface.

"Do _not_ even _think_ about it!" Gúthwyn yelled, scampering backwards. Unfortunately, she had nowhere to run: the pool was only so large, and she was certainly not about to go in deeper.

Instead, she settled for jumping behind Faramir, who had wandered over and was thoroughly unprepared to receive the splashing that had been intended for her. Gúthwyn stifled a grin at the shocked look on his face and decided that it was best if she made herself scarce.

While Éowyn was distracted by apologizing to her husband, Éomund's youngest daughter snuck out of the water and headed towards the blanket that had been spread out earlier. She took care to maintain her distance from Legolas and his friends, who were lounging on some nearby rocks—apparently impervious to discomfort. Trelan and Faelon were shirtless; yet Legolas had opted to keep his tunic on, for which she was exceedingly grateful. King Thranduil had been invited to come along with them, but he had merely smiled and insisted that the "young ones" enjoy themselves.

As she lowered herself onto the blanket, she saw Legolas straighten and glance over at her. Easing out of the conversation with his friends, he slipped off of the rocks and approached the blanket. "May I join you?" he inquired.

Gúthwyn nodded, stretching her legs out and hoping that the sun would dry them soon. She felt somewhat awkward doing this in front of Legolas, but it was either that or goose bumps.

"Are you cold?" he asked, noticing when she shivered slightly.

"Just a little," Gúthwyn replied, shifting over to make room for him on the blanket. "The water is freezing."

Legolas seemed taken aback. "I am sorry," he apologized. "I had not thought… Ever it has seemed but pleasantly cool to me. I should have remembered that it would not be the same for you."

Gúthwyn waved aside the apology. "Pleasantly cool?" she echoed wryly. "Try a match for the slopes of Caradhras."

Legolas laughed at this. "Surely you are exaggerating," he said in disbelief.

"Not by much," Gúthwyn muttered.

"I will never understand how mortals are so affected by the temperatures of their surroundings," Legolas murmured, shaking his head.

"And _I_ will never understand how Elves are so _un_affected by the same," Gúthwyn grumbled. It was not fair, really, how the other race had such an advantage over her kind. Taller, stronger, faster, impervious to cold or heat, _and_ immortal? From where she was standing, it was clear that Men had gotten the short end of the species stick.

Legolas was making an admirable, albeit doomed, attempt to hold back a grin. "Come, I bet it is not half as bad as you are making it out to be."

Gúthwyn wrinkled her nose when he stood up. "And how are you to be the judge of that?" she grumbled, reluctantly following suit. "You can hardly be considered impartial, when you are literally incapable of experiencing the water from my point of view."

Legolas merely smiled and pointed towards the lagoon. "Your sister and her husband seem to be doing just fine."

Gúthwyn followed his gaze to see Éowyn and Faramir swimming languidly in the deeps, the sounds of their laughter floating on the breeze towards the water's edge. "They must have lost feeling in their limbs," she protested.

Legolas was already walking towards the lagoon. "Or perhaps your limbs are just overly sensitive," he called teasingly over his shoulder.

"They are not!" Gúthwyn was about to retort, before realizing that she would only sound childish. Sighing, she resigned herself to proving Legolas wrong the hard way—by gritting her teeth and marching determinedly towards the lagoon.

Legolas was waist-deep into the water by the time she stuck her first toe in. _Damn Elf,_ she thought to herself, cringing as the coldness seeped into her bones.

"I heard that," Legolas replied with an audible grin.

Gúthwyn felt her cheeks turn crimson when she realized she had spoken aloud. Thank the Valar that Legolas had nothing in common with the nobles of Dol Amroth, who would have thought her colorful language uncouth.

_I wish more of those snooty lords and ladies were like him,_ she thought, sighing. Her life would have been much simpler if Lothíriel and her ilk were not so concerned with propriety and appearances' sake. Outside of Rohan, Legolas was one of perhaps a handful of people who did not see her as a whore, who did not censure her for behavior that deviated from the norm.

And what had she done to deserve such loyalty? Legolas had always treated her with kindness and respect, though she had rarely done the same. He had gone out of her way to protect her from Amrothos, though she had once wanted nothing to do with him. He was the very definition of patience and, maybe, a good friend.

Gúthwyn bit her lip, frowning in confusion. Was that what she considered him, at this point? A good friend?

"See? The water is quite comfortable—"

Legolas's voice broke through her thoughts, causing her to glance over. The prince had just emerged from beneath the surface, his hair plastered to the sides of his face and water dripping down his body. When he saw that Gúthwyn had not advanced beyond the ankle-deep point, he chuckled and began making his way back to her.

"The quicker you immerse yourself, the quicker you will grow accustomed to the temperature," he pointed out.

Gúthwyn shook her head, the rest of her retort dying on her lips when she noticed how Legolas's tunic was clinging to his chest. She flushed and looked away, her gaze darting instinctively to Éowyn—what sort of impression would her sister form, if she saw the two of them standing so close?—but no, the White Lady was swimming near the waterfall with her husband and paying not the slightest bit of attention to her surroundings.

"Gúthwyn?" Legolas asked quietly, a note of concern in his voice.

"What? Oh, sorry—" Embarrassed, Gúthwyn quickly took a few more steps into the water. "It is so cold!" she gasped, hopping up and down in an effort to keep the blood flowing through her legs.

Legolas, in a chivalrous gesture, visibly restrained his laughter. "It is hardly even up to your knees," he said, smirking.

Determined to look anywhere but at Legolas's torso, Gúthwyn stiffened her resolve and edged further out into the lagoon. With every new step, she drew in a sharp breath; how could Éowyn and Faramir possibly be fully immersed in the icy depths? Her lungs felt like they were shrinking in on themselves in an effort to avoid the cold.

"How does it feel now?" Legolas inquired when the water was up to her waist.

"I hate you."

Legolas laughed at that, his entire face seeming to light up. Gúthwyn found herself startled by how handsome he looked. _You idiot,_ she thought, mortified by how readily her emotions had betrayed her. _Have you learned nothing from your mistakes?_

_There is nothing wrong with finding Legolas attractive,_ another part of her argued. He was, after all, everything she had loved about Haldor…

She drew in a sharp breath, appalled by what she was thinking.

"Is something wrong?"

"No, of course not," Gúthwyn hastened to assure Legolas—and that was when the ground started to move beneath her feet.

A shock of birds flew into the air, whirling and shrieking amidst the trees, but their piercing cries were quickly drowned out by the rumbling of the earth. Gúthwyn gasped in alarm and lost her footing, tumbling ungracefully beneath the water's surface. She emerged a second later, her teeth chattering and her breaths coming in short gasps. The only time she had experienced anything like this was during her captivity in Mordor, when Mount Doom's frequent eruptions would momentarily interrupt training sessions. Cold panic washed over her: had some dark terror resettled Mordor, making the mountain active once again?

Almost before she realized it, however, the disturbance was over. The birds returned to their perches and the water stopped slapping against Gúthwyn's chest, nature's routines falling back into place.

"What was that?" she gasped, turning to Legolas. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Éowyn steadying Faramir—who, from the looks of it, had also slipped into the water.

"A remnant of Orodruin's former might," Legolas said darkly. "Mount Doom," he explained when Gúthwyn's eyebrows drew together in puzzlement. "Orodruin is its Sindarin name."

"Ah." Éomund's daughter wondered if this was common knowledge, or if she had inadvertently alluded—yet again—to her lack of a proper education. "Does this happen often?" she inquired, frowning. She had never heard of Ithilien being prone to earthquakes, though she hardly knew much about the province to begin with.

"Only occasionally." Legolas's tone was distracted, for he had glanced back to ascertain that his friends were unharmed. When his eyes reunited with Gúthwyn's, he added, "They are rarely more troublesome than this, and while not common to begin with they have become even less so over the years—as the Shadow retreats into memory."

"Yet has not diminished entirely," Gúthwyn noted with a shudder. Its grip on her was weaker than it had been before, but in her heart she knew that such evil would require decades, if not centuries, to fade from Middle-earth.

"Nay," Legolas replied softly. "It has not."

* * *

><p>The next day, Gúthwyn—still feeling cold from the previous day's outing—donned a thick dress and timidly ventured outside, praying that she would not run into anyone. She had slept too late for breakfast, and, though she was hungry, she was not about to seek the kitchens. Instead, she wandered towards the gardens in the hope of distracting herself from the growling in her stomach.<p>

Before stepping onto the path, she checked carefully for any signs of another's presence. The last thing she wanted was to encounter an Elf when she was alone, without Éowyn or Legolas to act as a barrier between them.

_Especially Raniean,_ she thought nervously, double-checking. She had a feeling that Raniean's dislike of her would show itself in alarming ways if he did not have to worry about anyone—namely, Legolas—seeing it.

When she was certain that no one was occupying the first garden, she tentatively entered its confines… only to walk right into King Thranduil himself.

"Lady Gúthwyn?" he asked, frowning slightly when she gasped and scrambled backwards, her chest heaving with fright. "Is something wrong?"

"N-N-No, my lord," Gúthwyn stammered, cursing her bad luck. "I-I was just startled, th-that is all. Forgive me for intruding, I did not mean to… I-I will take my leave." She was almost too terrified to be embarrassed by the fact that she sounded like a blithering idiot—almost.

"Please, stay," Thranduil bade her before she could retreat. "You were not interrupting anything. In fact, I was just about to return inside for a meal. Would you care to join me?"

For a moment, Gúthwyn thought that she had misheard him. Surely the Elvenking had not just invited her to dine with him. What reason could he possibly have to do so? Nay, it was absurd.

As the seconds lengthened, however, and Thranduil was still watching her with the air of one awaiting a response, she panicked. _By the Valar, he is completely serious!_ she thought in alarm. How could she extract herself from such a torture session without appearing rude?

"I-I w-would not wish to i-impose," she stuttered, surreptitiously clutching her dress when her hands started to tremble.

Thranduil was not to be swayed. "You would not be imposing in the slightest," he assured her. "Quite the opposite, indeed. I have long desired the opportunity to better acquaintance myself with the friends Legolas made during the War of the Ring. Please, I insist."

And, because Thranduil was the king of Eryn Lasgalen, there was really nothing Gúthwyn could do to refuse. "I-I would be g-glad to," she replied weakly, half-faint with terror.

Thranduil, completely unaware that the woman in front of him would rather face an angry dragon than sit down to eat with him, requested that she accompany him back to the dwelling. Gúthwyn complied, but she did not know whether it was proper to keep pace with a king. In the end, she settled for remaining a few steps behind.

Thranduil brought her to a veranda she had never noticed before, which appeared to wrap around the northwest corner of the dwelling. Or so she guessed, for she had never been good with directions and the sun was useless in its overhead position. There were two servants already waiting for them, one of which departed to obtain silverware for Gúthwyn. The other was directed to pour wine into two goblets—which he produced out of seemingly thin air, leaving Gúthwyn to wonder, not for the first time, about the unnatural quality of Elves' movements.

As his son had so often done, Thranduil held out a chair for Gúthwyn to sit in. Unlike when Legolas did it, however, Gúthwyn did not feel remotely at ease; when she said "thank you," her words came out as tremors. The one saving grace of the situation was that her seat allowed her to look out into the gardens. Hopefully, Éowyn, Faramir, or Legolas would happen to walk by… and then promptly rescue her.

"How are you finding your stay so far?" Thranduil inquired once he had sat down across from her.

It was like their first dinner together, when Thranduil had inexplicably taken an interest in her background, only a thousand times worse. There was no one else for the king to focus on, no one else to bear the burden of maintaining the conversation. Instead, Thranduil's attention was exclusively on Gúthwyn, who felt herself begin to sweat under his scrutiny.

"I-It has been wonderful, m-my lord, thank you," she replied, grasping at her limited stores of generic polite phrases. "You a-and Legolas have been most gracious in hosting us."

"It is our pleasure," Thranduil assured her warmly, "especially Legolas's." When Gúthwyn did not respond, having in fact no idea how to, the king elaborated. "I must confess, I was surprised to learn that the two of you were such close friends. Had I discovered this sooner, I would not have been so remiss in making your acquaintance."

"R-Remiss?" Gúthwyn stammered, confused. Thranduil spoke as if she and Legolas had been "close friends" for several years, when in reality she still could not define their relationship. Nor would she have minded if Thranduil had simply continued to ignore her existence—he certainly gained nothing out of associating with her, and her nerves were much better off when he was thousands of leagues away in Eryn Lasgalen (or however far away Eryn Lasgalen was; she had never quite figured out the distance).

"It has been a few years since my last visit here," Thranduil informed her, "for several pressing matters of business have kept me close to home. However, had I known that Legolas was becoming fast friends with such an admirable young woman, I would have encouraged him to introduce the two of us sooner."

Gúthwyn was at a loss for words. Why did Thranduil care about her friendship with Legolas? Why would he at all consider her an "admirable young woman"?

"Now, I have heard much about your brother and sister," Thranduil said, eying her speculatively over the rim of his goblet, "but I am afraid that Legolas has not been so forthcoming about you."

"H-He has not?" Gúthwyn asked before she could stop herself.

They were momentarily interrupted by the return of the first servant, who had brought utensils and a plate for Gúthwyn. Others followed almost immediately, bearing a small number of dishes for the meal. Gúthwyn inwardly flinched when she realized that all of them, save for the loaf of bread, involved meat in some way. _How am I supposed to abstain from eating without coming across as ungrateful?_ she wondered in anguish, trying not to recoil from the smell.

Thranduil shot her a quick look. "My son can be rather uncommunicative sometimes," he replied. "I imagine you have had a similar experience with Hammel."

It was, perhaps, the greatest understatement Gúthwyn had heard in recent memory. "I-I have," she admitted, flushing. She could not remember the last time Hammel had told her something that she had not had to pry from his mouth.

"It does become rather difficult to control one's children as they grow older," Thranduil mused, cutting a portion of venison for himself. Gúthwyn tentatively took a small piece of bread, wondering if she could break it up and spread it over her plate so as to give the appearance of indulging. "In truth, it is probably for the best," the king conceded ruefully, "for eventually one must learn to let them make their own way."

Gúthwyn smiled weakly, still rather flustered by the whole situation. Why was the Elvenking so interested in her company? Was he merely trying to be polite?

"Are you not hungry?" Thranduil inquired just then, glancing at her nearly empty plate with a quizzical expression.

"Oh, no—I-I mean, yes… I mean, I am fine, I just…" Gúthwyn could not believe how idiotic she sounded. Her cheeks flaming red, she bit her tongue before she could do any further damage.

Thranduil raised an eyebrow. "Is the deer not to your liking?"

So that was the source of the putrid smell emanating from the largest platter.

"N-No, my lord… I—"

"My apologies, I should have been more considerate," Thranduil responded smoothly. "I shall call a servant and ask them to bring something else from our stores. What type of meat do you prefer?"

"Oh, no, please, I-I do not wish to inconvenience anyone," Gúthwyn begged, alarmed. "I thank you f-for your concern, b-but r-really, I am fine, please."

"Ensuring that guests are well-fed is never an inconvenience," Thranduil told her, looking astonished at her behavior.

"I-I understand, m-my lord, but…" Looking down at her hands, Gúthwyn wretchedly came clean. "Meat d-does not agree with my stomach," she admitted, trembling. "P-Please, do not think it a-an unkind reflection on your provender… it is s-something that has troubled me for years. I-I wish it were not the case…"

For a moment, Thranduil did not speak. Gúthwyn swallowed under his gaze: now she knew where Legolas's uncanny ability to seemingly pierce right through her soul with a single glance came from. She could only imagine what the king now thought of her—probably something along the lines of _finicky child_, _worst guest to ever dine at my table_, or _utterly unworthy of my attention_.

"I-I am sorry," she whispered, humiliated.

Her words appeared to shake Thranduil out of a reverie. "Nay, you have nothing to be sorry for," he replied. "I have grown so accustomed to the meals I take with my usual company that I did not think to provide anything different. Fortunately, it seems that my son has been more thoughtful than I—for I have noticed that, lately, there have been an oddly large number of dishes at our table without meat. I had not realized that you were the reason."

"Legolas has been very accommodating, my lord," Gúthwyn hastened to say, a flush darkening her cheeks. She did not deserve the prince's kindness.

Thranduil examined her, then said something quietly in Elvish. Before Gúthwyn had time to knit her brow in confusion, one of the servants materialized at the king's side. Thranduil murmured something to him, a fleeting discussion that ended with the servant inclining his head and leaving the veranda. Gúthwyn anxiously watched the Elf's departure, wondering what Thranduil had told him about her.

"It is said," the king began, as if the pause in their conversation had never occurred, "that the Laiquendi of Ossiriand did not hunt animals. They certainly led more simplistic lives than most of our kind."

Beyond deducing that the Laiquendi were Elves of some sort, Gúthwyn had no idea what King Thranduil was talking about. She had never so much as heard of Ossiriand, and she was usually capable of remembering names even if she could not place them on a map. Hoping Legolas's father would not realize her ignorance, she smiled weakly and nodded.

Sensing that the Laiquendi was not a topic upon which they could sustain their discourse, Thranduil abruptly changed the subject. "Well. Have you yet given any thought to marriage?"

It was fortunate for Éomund's daughter that she was not drinking at the time, for she would have promptly choked on her wine. "I am approaching my thirtieth year, my lord," she said wryly, momentarily forgetting her fears. "I am afraid I have had no choice but to give many thoughts to marriage."

"Yet you remain unwedded," Thranduil pointed out.

"I do," Gúthwyn confirmed, wondering why everyone kept bringing this up with her. If she never heard the word "marriage" again, it would be too soon.

"You do not want a husband?" Thranduil inquired lightly.

Gúthwyn hesitated, thinking of Cobryn and the offer of security she had so willingly accepted from him. Nay, willingly was not strong enough a word; she had been overjoyed to hear his solution, and she had wanted to get married practically then and there. Yet still she did not see Cobryn as her future husband so much as the father of her children—and had there been a way to produce offspring without the disgusting necessity of lovemaking, she would have taken that path instead.

But had Borogor still been alive… Gúthwyn desperately wanted what they could have had together, what she bore witness to every day between Éowyn and Faramir: loving glances, tender embraces, words whispered delicately in the ear. She even longed to fall asleep in Borogor's arms, to have him hold her through the dark and cold nights. Yet with Borogor gone, there was no one to whom her heart was turned.

"I-I do not know, my lord," she at last answered truthfully, feeling rather guilty about concealing the fact that she was betrothed to her best friend. "Th-There is no man whom I l-love, not as a wife should love her husband."

"No man?" Thranduil echoed, frowning. "Of all the esteemed men of Rohan, there is not one whom you would consider wedding?"

Gúthwyn thought of Tun, and the look in her champion's eyes when she had refused him. "My brother's men are indeed very admirable," she hastened to say, not wanting to seem as if she were slighting the Eorlingas, "and any woman would be honored to take one of them as her spouse; but my feelings towards them are that of friendship, and no more."

"Yet surely there must be someone whom you have loved, in the nearly three decades you have spent on this earth," Thranduil pressed, looking exceedingly quizzical.

This time, Gúthwyn could not meet the king's gaze. "N-No, my lord," she lied, the blood rushing to her cheeks as she thought of how foolish she had been over the years. First falling heedlessly into love with Haldor, then not realizing that she had done the same with Borogor… If only she had come to her senses that much sooner! It might not have saved her from Haldor, but maybe she could have had Borogor's last few months.

_And what would you have done?_ she asked herself scornfully, angry that she was still fantasizing about a man long dead. _Would you have held hands with him in plain sight of everyone? Would you have kissed him in front of Haldor? Would you have slept beside him in the tent you shared with the other warriors?_

"I understand that it is often the custom of Men to marry not for love, but for wealth or political connections."

"I-It is, my lord. Is that not the case with Elves?"

"Indeed not," Thranduil replied, his eyebrows raising as if she had just uttered something offensive. "Elves, as a rule, do not force one another into unhappy marriages. It is abhorrent to our very nature. A union can only be achieved when it is desired by both parties."

"I wish humans shared those views." Gúthwyn sighed wistfully. It would have saved her a great deal of misery, if a woman of her position had the freedom to choose a husband with her happiness as the first priority—and not how the marriage would benefit everyone besides her.

"Are you expected, then, to wed above your station? To wed, that is, for monetary gain? If I may speak so indelicately."

Perhaps she was being paranoid; yet Gúthwyn could not help but wonder if, behind the Elven-king's question, there lurked a slight against her and her brother. Yes, Éomer had arranged her marriage with Elphir in order to strengthen Rohan's alliance with Dol Amroth—and yes, she had been miserable for it—but that was hardly any of Thranduil's business. She braced herself to defend Éomer, if need be.

"There was a time when I was expected to, yes," she said shortly. "Or rather, it was hoped that I would. But that time has passed, and I now have the freedom to choose what partner I will—if I will it. I am not interested in marrying a man for his coffers, nor are my circumstances such that I must be pragmatic."

What might have turned into an uncomfortable situation was averted by the return of the servant, who had brought with him two new dishes. Gúthwyn saw that they were similar to what Legolas had served the night before—and both of them were without meat.

"I hope that these are more to your liking," Thranduil said sincerely as they were set down before her.

Mortified that the Elvenking was going so far out of his way to accommodate her, Gúthwyn resolved to find them very much to her liking. "Th-Thank you, my lord," she stammered, feeling as if the temperature outside had risen significantly. "Y-You need not have—"

Thranduil waved her protests aside. Gúthwyn fell silent, not wanting to irritate him. "Now," he said, as she tentatively began serving herself some of the vegetable stew, "what sort of activities occupy your days, when you are not wielding a sword?"

Relieved that Thranduil had at least abandoned the discussion on marriage, Gúthwyn resigned herself to this newest line of interrogation.


	76. A Father's Advice

**A/N:** For those of you who don't already know, Peter Jackson recently revealed that The Hobbit is going to be a trilogy! (If you're scratching your head right now and wondering how on Middle-earth that's going to work, he's incorporating a lot of events that were only briefly mentioned in The Hobbit - the White Council, the Battle of Dol Guldur, etc. - and also putting in a lot of material from the Appendices.) I'm really excited about this, and hoping that it means more Legolas and Thranduil!

Not that this will be relevant at any time in the near future, but it's possible that the Hobbit films will contradict some of the canon in this story (for example, if the films show Thranduil with a wife). I don't anticipate there being any enormous differences that I'll have to reconcile with this story, but it may be something I'll have to think about come December.

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><p><strong>Chapter Seventy-Six<strong>

Legolas had been at the archery range not longer than half an hour before he was accosted by Trelan, who leaned close to him and muttered in his ear, "We have a problem."

Legolas looked at his friend in surprise, then drew the other Elf off to the side so that they might speak more privately. "What sort of problem?" he inquired warily.

Trelan grimaced. "I should say, _you_ have a problem," he replied. "On my way here, I passed the northern veranda… and it seems as if your father has found himself a new dining companion."

For a moment, the significant tone in Trelan's voice bewildered Legolas rather than alarmed him. "A new dining companion?" he repeated, frowning. "What do you…" Then it dawned on him, and he gaped at his friend in horror. "Please tell me that you do not mean Lady Gúthwyn."

"I do," Trelan confirmed grimly; "and, when I saw them, he was interrogating her about her marriage prospects. She was utterly petrified."

"I should have known my father would do something like this," Legolas muttered. "After the way he was questioning her the first night of her visit…"

To think he was under the delusion that his father had listened to him. He had repeatedly stated that he bore no romantic feelings towards Gúthwyn, that they were just friends and that that was all they ever would be, yet Thranduil's suspicions had not abated. Ever since Legolas had responded to his first letter on the subject with a heated defense of Gúthwyn, Thranduil's accusations had hung like a cloud over their relationship. Legolas was not a fool; he knew that his father had insisted on inviting the Faramir to the colony not because he wished to exchange news of their realms, but because of a certain recent addition to the Prince's household.

"You might want to intervene," Trelan advised Legolas, sending him a sympathetic smile. "She looked as if she had forgotten how to breathe."

Legolas swore under his breath. Of course Gúthwyn was terrified. Even if one could ignore his father's lengthy questioning, the fact remained that she still feared his kind. She still tensed whenever she saw a strange Elf, and sometimes even when he took her at unawares. He could only imagine how frightened she was now.

Thanking Trelan, he shouldered his bow and left the training grounds without a backward glance. Dread quickening his footsteps, he pressed onward through the trees and at last came to the outer edges of the main dwelling. He skirted around the walls, keeping an eye out for any sight of his father and Gúthwyn.

When at last he saw them, sitting together at a small table on the veranda, he thanked the Valar that Trelan had found him when he had. Gúthwyn's face was paler than the clouds above, and she could scarcely meet the king's gaze. One of her legs was jittering uncontrollably beneath the table.

Thranduil's back was to Legolas, but it was not difficult to guess at his expression: a mixture of benevolence and nonchalance, belying the fact that, if one knew where to look, they would see utter focus and determination in the depths of his cool grey eyes.

"Father," Legolas called out in greeting, lightly mounting the steps onto the veranda.

Both Thranduil and Gúthwyn were taken aback by his sudden appearance, with the former recovering swiftly. "Legolas," his father greeted him, all smiles. "I had thought you would be at the archery range at this time."

_And I have no doubt that you waited precisely until I was thus occupied,_ Legolas restrained himself from retorting.

Gúthwyn did not speak, but her eyes were wide with relief. _Help me_, they seemed to be begging him.

"I decided to leave early," Legolas told his father. He managed, barely, not to drag Thranduil away then and there and demand an explanation. However, such an action would be rather discourteous, and the answer was already crystal clear—he would just be seeking to hear it in his father's own words.

In an effort to calm himself, he turned to Gúthwyn and gave a small bow. "Lady Gúthwyn," he said, noting that the food on her plate was practically untouched. "It is a pleasure to see you, as always."

He had spoken out of sincerity, but also in part because of his father—and when Gúthwyn's pale cheeks darkened in a fierce blush, he wondered for a moment if he had gone too far. Not just with Thranduil, either, but with Gúthwyn. Only recently, it seemed, had she grown comfortable in his presence; he did not wish to jeopardize that, not for the sake of making a point to his father.

"Th-Thank you," Gúthwyn stammered, looking as if she wished to say something further but could not find the right words.

Legolas smiled at her, trying to put her at ease, and glanced at Thranduil. "May I join you?" he asked, hoping that his tone was nothing but pleasant.

"Of course," his father replied, his words benign and his expression inscrutable.

And so Legolas found himself sitting between Thranduil and Gúthwyn, ready to divert as much of the former's scrutiny away from the latter as possible. He was glad to see that there were a couple of meatless dishes on the table. Long had he been aware of Gúthwyn's dislike for anything that came from a once living creature, though he had never figured out why. He did not think she objected to the slaughter of animals; rather, it seemed that something about the meat's appearance, or perhaps the smell, was nauseating to her.

"We were discussing Lady Gúthwyn's talents with a sword before you arrived," Thranduil told Legolas, causing Gúthwyn to blush all the way to the roots of her hair.

_Why is she always embarrassed when someone compliments her?_ Legolas wondered, a bit sadly. It was as if she believed herself unworthy of anyone's praise.

"Even Faelon has noted her prowess," he said aloud to his father, smiling at Gúthwyn.

"That is a high honor indeed," Thranduil replied. "You must have had an excellent instructor."

He had struck a nerve. The hesitant smile on Gúthwyn's face faltered, and the light in her eyes dimmed—only for an instant, but long enough for Thranduil to notice. "I-I did, my lord," she said quietly, looking down at her plate.

Mercifully, Thranduil did not ask for the name of the instructor. "How old were you when you first began your training?" he instead inquired.

"T-Twelve, my lord," Gúthwyn answered, a quiet grief etched into her words.

Hoping to steer the discussion in a direction that would not provoke such painful memories for her, Legolas asked, "Have you taken to practicing with the warriors at Emyn Arnen? It would be a shame for dust to collect on your blade."

"I fear it already has," Gúthwyn replied sadly. "I have not been able to wield Framwine as often as I would like, for these days my sparring partners are few. I do not have the same familiarity with Faramir's men as I do with my brother's, and I doubt they would welcome me on the training grounds."

"They might," Legolas told her. "It has not been so long that they will have forgotten Éowyn's defeat of the Witch-king."

"If I were Éowyn, I would be cheered by that," Gúthwyn said, an odd expression on her face. The conversation was clearly bothering her, though Legolas was at a loss as to why. Was it the mention of Faramir, a man whom she had long hated and with whom she had only recently reached a peace of some sorts, or was it something else he could not even begin to guess at? Even after all these years, he reflected grimly, there were still many things he did not understand about Éomund's youngest daughter.

"Have you considered taking up archery?" Thranduil inquired. "You would not need a partner to practice."

Again, Gúthwyn flushed. This time, Legolas knew why—she had once confessed to him that she had learned to shoot in Mordor, and as a result harbored no love for the bow. "I have shown little aptitude for it, my lord," she told Thranduil. "The archery range would become a dangerous place for bystanders, were I to be set loose upon it."

In spite of himself, Legolas could not help but chuckle. Even Thranduil smiled at the self-deprecating remark. "To be sure, one cannot always devote their time to honing their abilities with a weapon—as Legolas knows full well."

Finally, a small grin appeared on Gúthwyn's face. Yet though her shoulders relaxed a little, she seemed to lack the courage to actually venture a response. Instead, she looked to Legolas for an answer.

"As the sister of a king," Thranduil addressed Gúthwyn before Legolas had the chance to form a reply, "you must have learned the same painful lesson as my son."

"I… I beg your pardon?" Gúthwyn asked, baffled. She glanced quickly at Legolas, her blue eyes narrowed in confusion.

"I would imagine that Éomer often requests your presence at his councils."

For a moment, Gúthwyn was astonished; then, she had to bite back a grin. "No, my lord. And it is better for the realm that he does not."

"What do you mean?" Thranduil inquired, his brow furrowing. Legolas liked not the expression in his eyes, though he was unable to explain to himself why.

"I love Rohan and all its people," Gúthwyn said, "but I would be lying if I claimed that I were remotely capable of helping my brother manage it. I am neither politically adept nor scholarly enough to be of any use, a lesson I learned within the first hour I ever acted as Éomer's regent. Now, I am better employed as my nephew's caregiver while his parents are at meetings. Or rather—" Her expression was suddenly chastened, and she appeared to regret having spoken. "I mean, I was," she hastily amended. "Not anymore."

"It is true that the art of diplomacy, and other sorts of political finesse, cannot be learned from the pages of a book," Thranduil agreed. His voice was amiable enough, but Legolas had an uneasy feeling that something else was lurking beneath the surface of his pleasantries. "However, there is no reason why devotion to your studies should not take care of the rest. Who sees to your education?"

"Father," Legolas muttered, so quietly that Gúthwyn was none the wiser. Thranduil acted as if he had not heard him, his gaze never once lifting from a now visibly squirming Gúthwyn.

"N-No one, my lord," Gúthwyn answered, reddening.

"No one?" Thranduil repeated, raising an eyebrow. "You tutor yourself?"

"Father," Legolas said, louder this time. Thranduil still ignored him.

"N-No, my lord," Gúthwyn said anxiously, looking back and forth between the two Elves.

"Do you read?"

"I… Not frequently," Gúthwyn replied, in a guilty tone suggesting that "never" was closer to the truth.

"You are the sister of a king. Surely you are expected to be well-learned?"

"I…" Even to Legolas's ears, Gúthwyn's voice was hardly above a whisper. Her lower lip was trembling; she bit it, hard enough that she winced.

"Éomer has a whole council of advisors who have dedicated their lives to the management of his realm," Legolas told Thranduil, his words sounding harsher than he had intended them to be. "He relies upon Gúthwyn to care for Prince Elfwine while he and his wife are busy governing the kingdom, and that is no meager task. Not only that, but she has Hammel and Haiweth to mind, as well." To Gúthwyn, he added, "And you have done a wonderful job with all three of them."

Though Gúthwyn blushed, it only brought a small dose of color to her pallid cheeks. "Th-Thank you," she murmured, swallowing. Her next words were so timidly spoken that Legolas almost had to lean forward to hear her. "F-Forgive me, my lords, b-but I am not feeling well. I-I beg leave to retire."

Legolas knew that she was lying, but he could hardly blame her after the ordeal his father had just put her through. "Of course," he said, before Thranduil could detain her. "Would you like me to walk you back to your room?"

Gúthwyn shook her head, as he had expected her to. "Th-Thank you, b-but I can manage," she replied, rising to her feet and giving a hesitant curtsy to Thranduil. "My lord. Thank you for inviting me to lunch. I-I am sorry I was not better company."

"Not at all. I hope that whatever ails you is nothing serious," Thranduil told her.

Gúthwyn dropped another awkward curtsy, in lieu of a verbal response, and left the porch as quickly as her feet would let her. Legolas opened his mouth when he saw that she had turned in the wrong direction, but she was gone before he could say anything. It would take her longer to reach her chambers now, yet she would arrive there eventually if she kept walking around the dwelling.

"Well," Thranduil said, breaking through his musings, "I cannot remember the last time I instilled such fear in someone simply by asking them to dine with me. Legolas, what on Arda did you tell her about me?"

"I think it was not so much what I told her as it was you singling her out for an interrogation," Legolas replied angrily. "What, exactly, were you hoping to accomplish by embarrassing her today?"

Thranduil lowered his goblet, his cool grey eyes fixed unsettlingly on Legolas. "I thought it in my best interests to learn more about this Lady Gúthwyn, when she appears to have become a prominent figure in your life," he said sternly.

Legolas braced himself, having a sinking feeling that nothing Thranduil was about to say would be the least bit flattering.

"From what I have observed," Thranduil continued, "she is a kind-hearted woman who will, no doubt, make a fine wife some day for a man who requires only a pretty face and a gentle spirit. And you, my son, are not that man."

"Father—"

"Do not interrupt me, Legolas." Thranduil's eyes flashed, steel amidst fire. "Understand me when I say that you are not in a position to marry solely for love. You are the prince of Eryn Lasgalen, and if something should happen to me you will be her king. Your wife would then be queen, a title that cannot be assumed by just anyone. When you contemplate marriage, you must take into consideration the other person's qualifications. You will want someone who is well-educated, who knows the language and the history of our people, and who will not shy from the tasks of maintaining a realm—or, at the very least, this colony. There will be accounts for her to review, letters for her to respond to, and visits for her to make. She will represent the Elves of the forest wherever she goes, and her comportment will be a reflection upon yourself and our house.

"I shall save you a great deal of trouble, Legolas, and tell you that Lady Gúthwyn is not even remotely suited for this role. The woman who just fled from our table on a flimsy excuse to avoid my company has not the slightest capacity to govern the smallest household, nor the desire to do so. She has no interest in supplementing her woefully inadequate education; I daresay that she cannot remember the last time she so much as picked up a book, let alone read one. She knows nothing of the Sindarin tongue, not to mention our ways and customs, and she appears to be utterly terrified of every Elf who crosses her path—with the possible exception of yourself. There is no place for her here, least of all as your wife."

"Gúthwyn and I are friends, no more," was all Legolas could muster in response, lest his fury overwhelm his senses.

Thranduil looked sharply at him. "I would be angry with you for lying to me, were it not painfully obvious that you are lying to yourself."

"Father—"

"Not once in your life, Legolas, have you looked at an Elven maiden the way you now look at Gúthwyn," Thranduil cut him off, his voice severe. "You give your heart to someone who will be gone in the blink of an eye, whose body will be rotting in the ground ere you reach the height of your—"

"Enough," Legolas ordered, hearing too much of Raniean in Thranduil's words. "Do you think me blind, deaf, or dumb, father? I am fully aware that she is mortal—"

"But, even now, you do not understand what that means," Thranduil replied heavily. "You do not understand how long forever is, when you are mourning the loss of someone whom you have loved with all your heart and soul."

Legolas fell silent. His mother had passed over the Sea, centuries ago; she could not bear the shadow that had fallen over their home after the arrival of the Necromancer, a shadow so potent that Greenwood the Great became known thereafter as Mirkwood. Thranduil steeled himself to appear otherwise, but Legolas could tell that her departure was a wound that had never healed.

"I have told you before, and I will tell you again," Thranduil said quietly: "Gúthwyn does not belong here. She would be better off as the wife of some minor lord in Rohan, where she can remain under her brother's patronage and continue to care for the nephew she loves so much. He is all she will ever have."

"I beg your pardon?"

"I have not the gift of foresight," Thranduil said, "but from what sight I do have I am certain that she will never bear children."

Legolas thought of how desperately Gúthwyn desired to be a mother, and felt sick. "What do you mean, she will never bear children?" he asked slowly, wondering how his father felt qualified to level such a judgment.

"All you have to do is look at her hips to know that even if, by some miracle, she manages to conceive, she will not survive the labor," Thranduil answered. "She is nothing but skin and bones; how could her womb be hospitable to a child? Her body is too frail, Legolas—I fear that pregnancy would be a death sentence for her."

"And what do you know of these matters?" Legolas retorted, refusing to believe his father's dire prediction. The Valar would not be so cruel. "You are not a midwife. You are not even mortal. Who are you to say whether or not she will be able to give birth? She is thin, yes, but there is nothing wrong with that."

Thranduil looked sadly at him. "Legolas," he replied, "have you blinded yourself to her faults?"

"I would hardly count something like that as a fault when it is completely out of her control," Legolas argued. "You seem overeager to point out her negative attributes, or rather what you would deem her negative attributes"—it had certainly never bothered him that Gúthwyn was not a scholar, when he was far from one himself—"and I find myself wondering if it is not you who has blinded yourself to her better qualities." It troubled him how readily both Thranduil and Raniean tore Gúthwyn down, when neither of them had spent any great measure of time with her and thus could not possibly know what she was truly like.

Thranduil sighed. "They were right to warn me," he murmured, half to himself. "You refuse to be reasoned with."

"By 'they,' of course, you mean Raniean, who would not utter a kind word about a mortal if his life depended on it," Legolas interjected.

"He is not the only one who has expressed concern to me about the path you seem to be heading down," Thranduil responded. "Far from it, in fact. Even Trelan worries for you, though he keeps his counsel to himself."

"There is nothing to worry about," Legolas said firmly. "Gúthwyn and I are friends, that is all. I cannot… I will not ask her to be my wife. You and Raniean are both overreacting."

When Thranduil next spoke, his voice was softer, gentler. "You know, then, that she does not love you."

"I know," Legolas said, trying to ignore the part of him—the very foolish part of him—that was making his voice tremble. _I have never wanted her to love me,_ he told himself. _I have only ever desired her friendship._ He had had to remind himself more frequently of late, it seemed.

"Legolas—"

"Please, ada," he murmured, suddenly bone-weary. "I understand that you are trying to help me, but I cannot continue this conversation right now."

Thranduil watched him for a moment, his eyes narrowed in suspicion; then, he sighed and relented. "Then let us turn our thoughts to other matters," he said. "Have you considered my earlier suggestion of hosting a feast?"

Legolas was more than willing to follow the change of subject.


	77. An Evening Stroll

**A/N:** School has started, and I'm already sick. =( Hope you guys are doing better!

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><p><strong>Chapter Seventy-Seven<strong>

Gúthwyn did her best to avoid King Thranduil for the rest of her visit, but he seemed to show up almost everywhere she went. Part of this, she supposed, was understandable: Legolas frequently kept her company, and it was only natural for Thranduil to seek out his son. Then, of course, there were meals, which she was generally obligated (or felt obligated, since Éowyn and Faramir always went) to attend.

Yet the Elvenking also made an effort to spend time with her alone, for reasons which she did not comprehend in the slightest, and to say their interactions were strained was optimistic at best. She always felt anxious around him, and it did not help that his idea of conversation appeared to be questioning her about every last detail of her life; and she never quite got over the embarrassment that had resulted from their luncheon. He was always courteous, but he must have thought her an idiot or worse. She found herself counting down the days until her departure.

At long last, the final night of her stay arrived; and Gúthwyn, Éowyn, and Faramir were treated to a sumptuous feast hosted by Legolas and his father. Elves and Men dined alongside one another, though there were significantly more of the former than the latter—which made it impossible for Gúthwyn to enjoy herself, even in spite of Thranduil's presence. Many of the Elves sang, their voices filling the hall with strange and unfamiliar melodies, but it was nothing that she could understand.

All in all, it was a relief to retire to her quarters and start packing for the journey back to Emyn Arnen. It did not take long for her to finish the task; indeed, she had hardly unpacked. When she was done, she strolled over to the window and, after carefully checking to make sure that there were no Elves in sight, gazed up at the stars.

She wondered what Hammel and Haiweth were doing right now, at this very moment. She could envision them easily: Hammel with his face pressed against a book, feverishly turning its pages as a candle burned low beside him; Haiweth hunched over her desk, hard at work on one of her innumerable sketches; both of them oblivious to the quiet beauty of the outside night. Cobryn, she imagined, would come around to check on both of them before going to bed himself.

Were either of the children thinking of her, as she was of them? Or had she left their thoughts when she left Emyn Arnen, making room for more important concerns? _They must be enjoying their time away from me,_ she reflected sadly, trying to remember where everything had gone wrong. They used to love her; now, they fought with her and, in Hammel's case, berated her.

There was little that she would not give to go back to the point at which her relationships with them had begun unraveling, yet searching for that point would be like searching for a particular blade of grass amongst the vast plains of Rohan. It seemed as though years had gone by without Hammel saying a pleasant word to her, or even willingly speaking to her. And Haiweth's rebelliousness had crept up so softly, so unexpectedly, that in Gúthwyn's mind it had happened practically overnight.

_Why do they hate me so much?_ she asked herself, swallowing the lump in her throat that always came instead of an answer.

Suddenly, the room felt stifling. She longed to escape its confines, but to do so would mean risking an encounter with an Elf—maybe several. Elves did not seem to keep normal sleeping hours: if by chance Gúthwyn woke up at night, it was often to hear them singing in the trees, or the laughter of an impromptu gathering. She did not want to venture outside of her room and have her goings marked by all of Legolas's friends… or, worse, King Thranduil.

Yet the garden below her window was silent, and the empty paths gleamed silver beneath the full moon. Gúthwyn hesitated, wondering if she dared to climb down from the window. _What if I see an Elf?_ she worried, biting her lip. She could always run back to her room, she supposed, as awkward a solution as that might be. Perhaps she would bid the intruder a good evening before she fled, if she were brave enough to attempt such pleasantries.

Making a decision, she retrieved one of her cloaks and fastened it securely about her shoulders. Then she opened the window and, with one last glance to ensure that no one had entered the garden in her absence, jumped lightly down to the ground. The fresh air that immediately enveloped her was gladly received, and she spent a moment in place, breathing deeply.

Then she set off at a walk, her legs carrying her on a slow circuit around the garden. She tried not to dwell on Hammel and Haiweth, as she would only make herself feel worse. Instead, she let her mind wander from the children to their caretaker.

_My betrothed,_ she thought, smiling. _Or my engaged-to-be-betrothed._ She could scarcely believe her good fortune. As if overnight, she had gone from fearing that she would never find a husband—let alone bear children—to knowing that, no matter what the future held, she would have at least one child. All because of Cobryn, because of amazing, wonderful Cobryn. _What would I do without him?_ she asked herself, not daring to contemplate the answer.

She was not ready to imagine what it would be like to make love to him—she could not, she would not—but for now it was enough to know that, once she conceived, they would stop. And then she would have a son or a daughter. She did not care which, as long as they were healthy. _They will be smart, too, like Cobryn,_ she decided, trying to envision their future. _He will teach them how to read and write, and I will teach them how to wield a sword._

Gúthwyn bit her lip, knowing that she was getting ahead of herself. It was easy to dream of having children, when in her mind she could conveniently gloss over the fact that she would have to become pregnant first. Here, now, she did not have to think about what it actually meant to be Cobryn's wife; but on their wedding night, she would be confronted by the inescapable truth.

Yet she had to do it, if she ever wanted children.

_Cobryn would never hurt me,_ she reminded herself. He would be gentle. He would be kind. She knew that he would not enjoy the consummation, either: his heart still belonged to Feride, and Gúthwyn could never replace her. Nor did she want to. Yes, it would be uncomfortable; yes, it would bring back too many memories. But surely, if she gritted her teeth and closed her eyes, she would be able to endure it?

She was thinking too much. Cobryn had told her that he would not propose to her until her thirty-second birthday; she therefore had just over two years to prepare herself for their marriage. Three, really, if she counted the betrothal period. Why ruin this beautiful night with doubts and fears? She would be content with her life, with her future. She and Cobryn were a good match, many had said so. More importantly, he made her feel safe. _He will be a wonderful father,_ she thought happily to herself. In truth, she could not have found a better husband, not if she had searched for years.

She reached the outer edges of the garden, and, not being inclined to venture out further onto the grounds, she turned back towards the dwelling. A number of windows were still lit, hers and Éowyn's excluded. Gúthwyn squinted and tried to see if anyone was moving around. Here, she reasoned, she was at a safe distance.

She glimpsed one Elf, their features indistinguishable, as they paced in front of the window and finally vanished from sight. Gúthwyn wondered if they were an advisor or a scholar of some sort. She imagined that this was how Aldor, one of Éomer's most dedicated councilors, spent many of his nights. Her contemplations were interrupted, however, by the sight of King Thranduil, whose appearance in the next window alarmed her so much that she ducked behind a tree and did not emerge—indeed, scarcely breathed—until he blew out a nearby candle and the room plunged into darkness.

Still trembling from their near-encounter, Gúthwyn exhaled slowly and then continued on her walk. As she drew closer, she saw another figure in the room above her own, sitting at his desk: Legolas. He was writing a letter, his brow furrowed in concentration as he dipped his quill into the inkwell and scratched another word out on the parchment.

She observed him for perhaps longer than she should have, pleasantly enjoying the fact that she could now look upon him without fear. She felt quite calm now, watching him, knowing that he had had thousands of opportunities to hurt her and had done nothing—in fact, had not even recognized them. He would not harm her; she knew that now. He was a gentleman in every sense of the word.

_I wish I had realized that sooner,_ she thought ruefully. She would have saved herself years of anxiety and discomfort if she had just accepted the truth: that Legolas was not Haldor, that he was not going to turn on her when she least expected it. Had he been any less patient, he would have abandoned her as a lost cause long ago—but he had persevered, with no expectation of reward.

Legolas looked up from his letter and glanced at the window, making her heart stop; yet he did not see her, and a moment later he resumed writing. His hair shone in the candlelight, glimmering with every slight movement; she tried to recall if Éowyn's hair did that, too, or if it was some unnatural luminescence that Elves possessed.

_He is very handsome._

The thought came to her, unbidden and wholly unexpected, and she caught herself in surprise. _How could I ever even _think _something like that?_ she berated herself, aghast. _After all that Haldor did to me…_

_You were attracted to Haldor before he showed his true colors,_ another voice reminded her. _If Legolas has proven that he is nothing like Haldor, why should you not acknowledge that he is handsome? There is nothing wrong with making a simple observation._

_But what happens when the object of my observations is identical to the Elf who raped and tortured me for three years?_ Gúthwyn wondered miserably, feeling sick. _Is it still acceptable then?_

She turned away from Legolas's window, ashamed of herself. Either she was completely overreacting, in which case she was a fool; or she was forgetting the lessons she had learned in Haldor's tent, in which case she was an even bigger fool.

_How much longer will his memory hold my thoughts hostage?_ she asked herself, sighing. If only her mind could go back to the way it was before Haldor, maybe then she would not have to feel so guilty over what should have been a fleeting, harmless thought.

"Gúthwyn?"

Startled, Éomund's daughter jumped and whirled around—only to see Legolas, leaning out of his window and gazing down at her. "Are you having trouble sleeping?" he inquired, frowning.

"No, not at all," Gúthwyn assured him, craning her neck up to see him better. "I have not even gone to bed yet, I was just taking a walk."

Legolas smiled. "It is a beautiful night, is it not?"

Due to the nature of her thoughts, Gúthwyn had not been paying much attention to her surroundings; but, when she took a moment to look at the stars, she saw that Legolas was right. "What are you doing inside, then?" she asked, grinning.

"Finishing a letter to Gimli," Legolas explained. "He has invited me to the Lonely Mountain for Durin's Day."

"Durin's Day?" Gúthwyn repeated, wrinkling her brow. "What is that?"

Immediately she feared that Durin's Day was common knowledge, and that she had just shown an appalling display of ignorance; but Legolas did not seem to think the question was ridiculous, and he answered, "It is the start of the Dwarven new year, when the sun and the last moon of autumn are in the sky together. Gimli and his kin will be observing it with a great feast."

"Are you going?" Gúthwyn asked, trying to imagine Legolas at a dwarf lord's table. He would tower over everyone, certainly.

Legolas nodded. "It has been almost a year since I last saw Gimli," he replied, "and I would not miss it."

Something occurred to Gúthwyn then, and she smirked. "I suppose a certain friend of yours will be thrilled that you have accepted," she teased, winking.

Chuckling, Legolas said, "I doubt he will go. There is no love between him and Gimli, especially after Gimli called him a 'cantankerous snob of an Elf.'"

Gúthwyn made a note to herself to write Gimli in the near future and congratulate him on his bravery. "How did Raniean take that?" she queried.

"Not very well," Legolas answered, sighing.

_Why are you friends with Raniean in the first place?_ she longed to ask, but she held her tongue. She supposed that, at one point or another within the past couple of thousand years, Raniean had proven himself to be capable of decent behavior.

Legolas seemed rather morose, so Gúthwyn cast around for something else to say. "Would you like to join me?" she finally inquired, gazing hesitantly up at him. "For a walk, I mean," she clarified when his eyes widened.

"You would not mind?" he asked, looking closely at her.

"Not at all," Gúthwyn assured him.

"I will be down in a moment," he replied, smiling.

Gúthwyn waited as he disappeared from view; a few seconds later, the room plunged into darkness. Then he returned to the window and, as if it were no more remarkable than taking the stairs, swung himself over the ledge and leaped towards the nearest tree.

She was unable to stop herself from gasping as he soared over the ground, for it seemed impossibly far to the oak… but Legolas easily caught one of the branches and swung down, landing with nary a sound. "How on Middle-earth do you do that?" Gúthwyn asked, envying his agility.

Legolas chuckled. "Unfortunately, I do not think I can teach you," he said. "It is significantly more difficult than climbing a tree."

Making a face, Gúthwyn replied, "I did well enough on the oak."

Legolas generously attempted to conceal his smirk. "For your first time. Have you tried on another tree?"

"Only once," Gúthwyn admitted, blushing at the memory. "One of Faramir's men saw me when I was climbing back down and thought I had gone mad, though he was kind enough not to say anything." She had been picking flecks of bark out of her hair for a week. "Besides, there is not much to do in a tree."

"Of course there is," Legolas responded, bewildered. "You could read a book, take a nap—"

Gúthwyn burst into laughter, then realized that he was being completely serious. "How could you possibly _sleep_ in a tree?" she demanded incredulously. "No blankets, no pillow, insects crawling over you left and right—it would hardly be comfortable, never mind the fact that you would be worrying about falling to your death!"

"I had forgotten that balance was not a human's strong suit," Legolas confessed. "It has been a long time since I saw Aragorn try and fail spectacularly."

If Aragorn could not do it, then Gúthwyn doubted that any mortal could. "Are you sure you forgot?" she asked him jestingly. "Or were you just saying that to taunt me?"

"Well, now that you mention it…" Legolas grinned rather wickedly.

She was tempted to elbow him, even though she did not believe that he was being serious, but she reminded herself that such an action would not be proper. _I am nowhere near as close to him as I am with Cobryn, after all._

They walked in silence for a time, each content to remain in their own thoughts. At length, however, Legolas sighed and said, "Gúthwyn, there is something I have been meaning to apologize to you for."

Gúthwyn looked at him in bewilderment. "Apologize?" she echoed. "For what?"

When Legolas next spoke, his voice was gentle. "I am truly sorry for how uncomfortable you were this visit."

"W-What do you mean?" Gúthwyn stammered, praying that he had not noticed her fear of his father. It would have been a poor way for her to repay his hospitality.

"I know my father can be intimidating," Legolas said, dashing her hopes, "and I know that he made you nervous, though you did your best to conceal it."

"Legolas—" Gúthwyn began, mortified.

"You need not explain yourself, or apologize," Legolas replied softly, sensing what she had been about to do. "It is certainly not your fault. My father…" He sighed again. "My father has good intentions," he finally said. "It was never his desire to frighten you or upset you. He is not aware about… about what happened on Amon Hen."

The mention of the place where Haldor had died sent a shiver up and down Gúthwyn's spine, but she tried to ignore it. "Legolas, you do not have to do this," she murmured, embarrassed that he was trying to apologize for her weakness.

"I do," Legolas insisted, coming to a halt on the path. Gúthwyn stopped as well, less than a foot away from him, suddenly aware of how much taller he was than her. "I never wanted you to be unhappy in my home," he continued earnestly, gazing down at her, "and you have been—every moment of your stay."

"That is not true," Gúthwyn interjected suddenly, torn by the pain she saw in his features. She realized that she was loth to witness his suffering, especially when it was on her account. "I am not unhappy now," she added truthfully.

She had surprised him. "You are not?" he asked, his eyes widening.

Gúthwyn shook her head. "No," she said quietly. "I am not."

They stood there for a moment, Legolas gazing at her as if he were uncertain whether or not she was telling the truth, until Gúthwyn shifted and felt a dull pain engulf her ankle. Not having expected the sensation, she lost her balance for an instant and wobbled.

"Are you all right?" Legolas asked immediately, his brow furrowing.

"My ankle," Gúthwyn murmured, much to her own astonishment—she had intended to reply, _Yes, of course, I am fine_. Quickly, so that he would not be alarmed, she added, "It must have just fallen asleep."

Legolas was not convinced. "Is this the same ankle you have broken before?" he asked, the expression in his eyes telling her that he already knew the answer.

Gúthwyn reluctantly nodded. "But it is fine, really. I must have been putting more weight on it than usual," she hastened to say.

"Let us sit down, then," Legolas suggested, gesturing towards a nearby bench.

"Oh, no, that is not necessary—"

"Please, I insist," Legolas replied, politely yet firmly.

Gúthwyn debated arguing, but in the end she had to accept that being stubborn was not going to help her case. "As you wish," she agreed, resolving to better conceal her emotions next time.

They settled down on the bench, Gúthwyn surreptitiously rolling her ankle to test its limits. She found that it was twinging with each movement, though she could not understand why. _I guess it never really healed,_ she thought morosely.

"You must be looking forward to seeing Hammel and Haiweth again," Legolas remarked. "Hopefully, Haiweth's health will have improved by your return."

Gúthwyn fidgeted, remembering the lie she had told Thranduil to explain the children's absence.

"Is something wrong?" Legolas inquired, noticing her uneasiness. "Is she more seriously ill than you have let on?"

"No," Gúthwyn said quickly, "it is not that… but—" She broke off, embarrassed.

"What is it?" Legolas asked, his voice gentle.

"Legolas, I was not being truthful when I told your father that Haiweth had a cold," Gúthwyn admitted, swallowing. Her face was burning with guilt, and became positively aflame when Legolas looked at her quizzically. "Haiweth… Haiweth is in perfectly fine health. Yet she and Hammel… They did not wish to come, and I did not wish to make them."

"I see," Legolas responded quietly.

"I-I am sorry," Gúthwyn stammered, regretting her confession.

He shook his head sadly, grief etched into his features. "It is not your fault," he answered. "Nor is it theirs."

"They are still afraid of you," Gúthwyn said, feeling as though she had to explain. "They still remember…"

"And what about you?" Legolas asked seriously, looking as if he dreaded hearing the truth. "Are you still afraid of me?"

The question caught Gúthwyn by surprise, and for a moment she could only stare at him, her lips slightly parted. "No," she finally said, the answer welling up from somewhere deep within her, from a place she had barely known or recognized before. "Not anymore."

Words could not have described the expression that passed across Legolas's face in that moment, an expression so full of wonder and relief that she blushed at the intimacy of it all. "I am glad to hear it," Legolas murmured; and she had the distinct impression that the small smile he allowed himself was only a shadow of what might have broken through, had he less restraint.

If he had been Cobryn, she would have taken his hand. "So am I," she replied instead, feeling as light as if she had just grown wings and were soaring through the air.

The two of them sat there, the warm night humming around them, and Thranduil turned away from his window.


	78. Gúthwyn's Educational Experience

**A/N:** I'm going to preface this chapter by telling you how much I don't know about childbirth. No, seriously. (Spoiler alert, I suppose, but y'all knew that Éowyn was going to have to give birth sooner or later.) Basically my understanding was that the mother's water breaks, she spends the next several hours screaming and swearing at the father, and then everyone's happy at the end—i.e., what Hollywood had told me. I was vaguely aware that the baby could be breached and that painkillers were really, really good things to have on hand, but that was about it. Oh, and there was an umbilical cord involved, and that's how belly buttons are made. Yeah.

(In my defense, I've never given birth, nor has any of my friends. And I was never forced to watch a childbirth video in sex ed, so. Ignorance is bliss, I tell you.)

Therefore, when I set out to write this scene, I knew that I was going to have to do some research. I hopped on over to Wikipedia (don't judge), where I had my first unpleasant surprise: "What do they mean by placental expulsion…? Oh, there's a thumbnail image, let me just see—_oh._" One of the articles I read was about a woman who specializes in _preparing the placenta for the mother to eat_. (No offense meant to anyone here who's done it; maybe now would be a good time to reiterate that I'm a sheltered college student who had never even seen a picture of a placenta until this chapter.) According to this article, some people like their placenta in a smoothie. Yup, just popping the thing in a blender and drinking it thirty seconds later. Try reading about that while you're eating.

Other things I learned about childbirth: a lot of women have bowel movements in labor. Lying on your back may very well not be a great position to give birth in. (In fact, apparently medieval midwives used birthing stools!) Forceps are really scary. Women can walk around and take baths while they're giving birth. Did I mention the placenta?

The point of this ridiculously long author's note is: I have done my best to remedy my woefully inadequate knowledge of childbirth (Wikipedia for the win, going to countless parenting websites, posting on a writer's research forum, and even watching a live birth video through my fingers and with the sound off), but it is very likely that this chapter will be riddled with inaccuracies. I think childbirth is one of those things that you really can't grasp until you've been in the delivery room, either as the person giving birth or as a witness, and I encourage those of you with more experience to let me know if you read anything that seems amiss.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Seventy-Eight<strong>

Éowyn's water broke during breakfast on an unusually hot May morning, and she swore so loudly that Haiweth let out a shriek of surprise and knocked over a bowl of apples. In the chaos that followed, the apples were tripped over and cursed at by nearly everyone, but otherwise completely forgotten.

"Éowyn? What is wrong?" Faramir demanded, gripping her shoulder.

"The baby—" Éowyn whispered, her eyes wide.

Faramir's face turned whiter than the tablecloth. "The midwife—"

"I will find her, my lord," volunteered Beregond, the captain of Faramir's guard. He stood up and left the room so quickly that Faramir barely had time to thank him.

"Is the baby coming?" Haiweth asked, her voice a mere squeak.

Éowyn did not hear her. "Help me to our room," she gasped at Faramir, struggling to rise from her chair. "Help—" She gave a stifled cry and doubled over, clutching at her abdomen. Faramir leaped forward and all but picked her up, knocking several chairs over in his haste. "Gúthwyn, come with me—Gúthwyn—"

"Gúthwyn," Cobryn said, shaking her shoulder.

Éomund's daughter had been staring, terrified, at the White Lady; but her friend's touch roused her from her stupor, and she blinked and asked, "What?"

"Go with Éowyn," Cobryn ordered her.

Gúthwyn glanced up in alarm and saw that Éowyn and Faramir were already halfway to the door, the former groaning and gripping her stomach. "Oh—right!" she exclaimed, banging her thighs against the table and nearly upsetting a bowl of broth in her rush to stand up.

The next fifteen minutes were a blur of midwives, Faramir and Gúthwyn falling over themselves and each other in their efforts to stay out of the way, and Éowyn cursing her way through a particularly painful contraction. The head midwife, Palanwen, had her on a stool. The arrangement struck Gúthwyn as exceedingly silly—what if the child came out so quickly that no one was able to catch it?—but when she ventured to inquire, both Éowyn and the midwife looked at her as if she had grown a second head. She decided not to ask a second time.

Once the contraction had passed, the midwife told Éowyn to stand up and start walking around.

"Why would you do that?" Gúthwyn blurted out as Faramir started helping the White Lady to her feet.

"Gúthwyn," Éowyn replied through gritted teeth, "do you know anything about childbirth?"

Gúthwyn bit her lip. "Er—"

"By the Valar," Éowyn muttered, beginning to limp around the edge of the room. Faramir was with her, assisting at every step; yet he, too, looked as if he were rather dubious about the whole affair.

"I do not understand," Gúthwyn whispered, though no one heard her.

Éowyn walked around for hours, her shoulders becoming increasingly hunched over as she fought against the pain. One of the younger midwives finally told Gúthwyn that standing up during labor helped ease the process; she then explained it again, when all she got in response was a blank stare.

At one point it crossed Gúthwyn's mind, rather absurdly, that someone should tell Legolas. He was staying with them for a few days, though he had not been at breakfast—he was likely using the archery range. Surely he had returned to the dwelling by now and was wondering where everyone was. _Word should be sent, _she decided, only to realize how ridiculous she was being. He would only have to inquire, and someone would tell him; there was no reason to send someone out in search of him.

More time passed. Gúthwyn heard a number of growling stomachs, including her own, but no one thought of leaving. She and Faramir initially took turns helping Éowyn around the room, but Éowyn eventually decided that she preferred her husband at her side. "Whenever you are there," she told Gúthwyn, though not rudely, "I fear that I am going to knock you over!"

The sun fell, requiring the midwives to place a myriad of candles throughout the chamber. Éowyn's contractions were occurring so frequently now that she was out of breath, and she asked to lie down on the bed.

"Is it supposed to be taking this long?" Gúthwyn whispered to the head midwife while Éowyn and Faramir were occupied with the transition.

"I once had a mother in labor for three days," the midwife replied conversationally, adding a fresh pile of bandages to an already enormous stack.

"Three _days_?" Gúthwyn hissed.

Faramir, who was giving Éowyn a shoulder massage, heard her and paled rather magnificently.

The hours crawled. Éowyn was in visible discomfort, alternately rubbing her belly and shifting positions on the bed: futile efforts that, at best, alleviated the pain for no more than a few seconds. Gúthwyn and Faramir exchanged several worried glances, painfully aware of their mutual helplessness. The midwives, however, did not seem concerned in the least. "We have nothing to worry about, my lord," Palanwen assured Faramir.

"Yet," Faramir muttered, grimacing. Éowyn shot him a nasty glare.

It was midnight before Palanwen announced that Éowyn was ready to start pushing. "My lady, if you would not mind…" she said, gesturing towards Éowyn's dress.

Gúthwyn realized in an instant what was coming, but it was too late: Éowyn reached down and hiked her skirts up with the midwife's assistance, exposing herself for everyone in the room to see. Éowyn hardly seemed bothered by it, and Palanwen was examining her quite matter-of-factly; it was Gúthwyn whose cheeks were flaming, Gúthwyn who covered her mouth with trembling hands.

"Baby sister," Éowyn whispered, seeing her distress, "I am fine. Do not worry for me."

Gúthwyn swallowed and nodded, ashamed of herself for her reaction—she was supposed to be comforting Éowyn, not the other way around. All the same, she diligently avoided looking at her sister's legs, and she could not help but wonder if there were an alternative to such humiliation. If she and Cobryn were to marry… if she became pregnant… she would be the one in Éowyn's place, lying on her back and helpless to do anything as the midwife poked and prodded at her.

It reminded her of Haldor's tent, and she shivered. She had never thought of childbirth like that.

"Are you ready, my lady?" Palanwen inquired, drawing Gúthwyn from her dark musings.

Éowyn nodded, taking a deep breath; Faramir looked more nervous than she did.

"One, two, three…" Palanwen was counting calmly, but Gúthwyn felt as if she were going to throw up from anxiety. "Push!"

Lines appeared on Éowyn's brow as her features twisted into a mask of agony; then her limbs trembled violently and she slumped back against Faramir, panting.

"One, two, three…"

The cycle continued, but two hours later there was no sign of the baby. Éowyn was growing increasingly agitated, her face shining with sweat and her breath coming in short gasps. "How much longer?" she choked out after a contraction left her groaning in pain.

"It is your first time, my lady," Palanwen reminded her apologetically. "I am afraid it may take hours more. One, two, three…"

"Not again," Éowyn moaned; but nevertheless she gathered herself together and pushed as hard as she could. When it was over, she cried out in anguish—a sound that chilled Gúthwyn to the bone.

"Is there anything we can do for her?" she demanded, wishing she could cover her ears. Éowyn was capable of enduring more than most, but it was clear that she was reaching her limit—and Gúthwyn would have given anything to not hear another one of those cries. "Can we get her some medicine, or anything?" she continued desperately.

Palanwen shook her head. "If I numb the pain, it will make it harder for her to push. One, two, three…"

Gúthwyn had the sudden urge to smack the woman. _Stop making her do that!_ she wanted to yell. _All you are doing is torturing her!_

"Just think," Faramir was murmuring in Éowyn's ear: "our child could be born by breakfast—and then you will have all the time in the world to rest."

"That—would be—nice," Éowyn grunted, panting. "If only—" She was cut off by her own sharp yelp: Palanwen had told her to push.

"Éowyn?" Gúthwyn asked anxiously, gripping her sister's shoulder. She had not liked what she had heard in that cry.

Éowyn looked up at her, mustering a smile that wobbled precariously on her lips. "It hurts," she whispered.

It was the admission that terrified Éomund's youngest daughter, more than any howl or scream could have done. She knew, from their childhood together, exactly how much pain Éowyn had to be in before she would admit to it—and not only pain, but fear. Éowyn's confession, which would have seemed like a stating of the obvious to most, told Gúthwyn something far worse: that she was in excruciating agony, and that she was afraid.

"You can get through this, Éowyn," Gúthwyn said fiercely, locking eyes with her sister. She could not let her alarm show, not when Éowyn needed her; she could not succumb to her emotions, not now. Not when Éowyn was looking at her like that. "You _will_ get through this," she insisted. "Here, hold my hand. I do not care if you break every single one of my fingers, just push as hard as you can…" And, for a moment, she thought her fingers _had_ broken—such was the force with which Éowyn squeezed.

"I can see the head!" Palanwen reported excitedly. "A few more pushes, my lady, that should do it—"

But a few more pushes were not enough. An hour later, no progress had been made—and, worse, Éowyn had started screaming.

"Is there nothing you can do?" Faramir shouted at Palanwen, losing his patience as tears of exhaustion and frustration formed in Éowyn's eyes.

"How much longer will this take?" Gúthwyn added furiously, desiring nothing more than a dagger with which she could stab the woman between her legs and make her realize just how much pain Éowyn was in.

Palanwen, however, was unfazed by their anger—not, Gúthwyn reflected bitterly, when she had likely heard it all before. "I can try to pull the baby out," she replied, "but I will need to see more of its head if you want me to do it safely. My lady, you must continue pushing."

Gúthwyn's heart wrenched when she saw her sister struggling not to cry. "All right," Éowyn whispered, closing her eyes. Gúthwyn braced herself, but there was no way to prepare for the shrieks of agony that were steadily worsening.

It was another hour, a long, awful hour, before Palanwen was ready to attempt to pull out the baby. The midwife beckoned to one of the other women, who retrieved a long, thin box from the table of supplies and brought it over. Opening it, Palanwen withdrew something that looked oddly like the tongs that one might use to put coals into a fire.

"What is that?" Gúthwyn and Faramir asked simultaneously, their eyes suspiciously examining the iron instrument.

"It will help me get a grip on the child's head so that I can pull it out," Palanwen explained, motioning for the apprentice. As the apprentice brought over the pot of water that had been boiling over the fire, Gúthwyn and Faramir exchanged incredulous looks.

"Are you telling me," Gúthwyn began, trembling, "that you are going to stick that—that _thing_ into my sister, clamp it around the child's head, and yank it out of her body?"

Even Éowyn, whose lack of exclamation suggested that she was familiar with the tool, was staring apprehensively at Palanwen.

"It is not quite so gruesome as that," Palanwen responded, soaking a rag and cleaning the tongs, "but—"

"No," Gúthwyn cut her off, shaking her head. "Absolutely not. You keep that thing away from her."

"It has been so long without any progress," replied Palanwen, "that I am afraid there is no other—"

"Absolutely not!" Gúthwyn repeated, swelling up indignantly. "Find another way. There must be something else you can do that does not involve sticking that _thing_ into her!"

"Lady Gúthwyn, I know you want what is best for your sister, but understand that the bleeding will be minimal and that there is rarely any damage to the mother's tissue. At the rate this child is coming out, it will be far safer to do this than to—"

But Gúthwyn, whose eyes had grown as wide as saucers upon hearing the word "bleeding," was not listening. Finally losing her temper, she bellowed, "_Have you gone mad? What are your _hands _for?_"

"My hands are thicker than these," Palanwen said patiently, holding up the tongs for comparison. "It may seem like the more pleasant option, but—"

"I would rather you not use that thing," Éowyn said, the look in her eyes suggesting that the mere sight of the instrument was making her queasy.

"You will feel more pain," Palanwen warned.

"What difference does it make now?" Éowyn asked quietly, her hand limp in Gúthwyn's grasp.

Palanwen inclined her head. "As you wish, my lady," she replied. "Are you ready to start pushing again?"

It seemed to take every last ounce of strength for Éowyn to nod, even with Gúthwyn and Faramir's steady encouragements. Palanwen's hands slipped back between Éowyn's legs, and Gúthwyn quickly turned her head—but it was not enough. Her sister's scream ripped through the air, gaining momentum as the seconds lengthened and the midwife's arms tensed from the effort of tugging.

Gúthwyn felt as if the ordeal lasted forever, with Palanwen pulling to the best of her abilities and Éowyn yelling as if she were being torn in two. Gúthwyn tried to pretend that she could not hear her sister's cries, but inside her stomach was twisting into knots and threatening to regurgitate her long-forgotten breakfast. The midwife gave no indication that anything was amiss, but the mere fact that Éowyn was in such pain made the experience utterly terrifying for Gúthwyn. She had to fight back her nausea, praying that it would all be over soon.

And then Éowyn gave one last scream, her eyes rolling into the back of her head as the hoarse cry was torn from the lowest reaches of her throat; and another voice joined hers, a high-pitched squalling that brought tears to her eyes. But when Palanwen lifted up the baby, it could scarcely be seen—there was blood everywhere, blood and other fluids which Gúthwyn did not want to identify, covering the infant's skin in such a thick coat of slime that its features were indiscernible.

"It is a boy," the midwife announced, beaming.

"Is he healthy?" Éowyn asked immediately, squeezing Faramir's hand. The Steward was blinking rapidly.

"Everything looks wonderful," Palanwen reported happily. "Ten fingers, ten toes, nothing too small or too big…"

"What is that?" Gúthwyn suddenly demanded, her voice choked with revulsion. Protruding from the infant, where its navel should have been, was a long, bulbous cord of a sickly white color. Gúthwyn's horrified gaze followed its trail all the way back to Éowyn, where it disappeared between her legs.

The midwife looked at her in surprise. "It is what connects the child to the mother in the womb, of course!" she exclaimed. "How else would it be able to feed?"

Gúthwyn gaped at her, but Éowyn laughed weakly. "Baby sister," she said, her words slurred from weariness, "for someone who loves children so much, you barely know anything about how they come into this world."

Gúthwyn's cheeks flushed, and she would have defended herself had she not seen something that made her heart stop. "What are you doing?" she cried to Palanwen, who was holding a short, sharp knife to the infant's belly. "Get that away from him!"

The midwife ignored her and, quick as a flash, sliced off the cord. Éomund's daughter gasped, her hands flying to her mouth, and thought she would be sick.

"Gúthwyn, really, try not to lose your head completely," Éowyn said, groaning as she tried to prop herself up. "You cannot expect the baby to stay attached to me forever—Faramir, I am perfectly capable of sitting up. Please, I want to hold my child."

Palanwen had already handed the infant off to her apprentice, who was carefully washing the fluids off of its squirming body.

"What are you doing?" Gúthwyn asked the midwife sharply, alarmed by the needle and thread she saw in the woman's hand.

"Your sister needs some stitches," Palanwen calmly explained. "My lady, please, if you could lie back down…"

"How many stitches?" Gúthwyn and Faramir demanded at the same time.

"As many as are required," the midwife answered. "Tilendis, let her hold the prince while I do this."

The apprentice finished cleaning the child, who by now had stopped crying and was observing the procedure in puzzlement, and scurried over to Éowyn's side. The White Lady hardly seemed to notice Palanwen's needle; all her attention was on the baby, who gurgled quietly as he was placed in his mother's arms.

Gúthwyn longed to watch, but Palanwen was still stitching Éowyn up and she did not dare let her attention wander. _The Valar know what else she might try to stick into my sister,_ she thought, glaring at the knife on the table still shining with blood. She felt weak and sick at the memory, and she tried to avoid looking at the repugnant cord trailing from Éowyn.

"When are you going to take that thing out?" she asked desperately.

"It will come out on its own," Palanwen replied absently, absorbed by her task.

"How do you know? What if it does not?" Gúthwyn pressed.

"It always does," the midwife said.

This did not comfort Gúthwyn in the slightest. She was about to insist that Palanwen elaborate when she heard Faramir murmur, his voice filled with awe: "He is beautiful."

Gúthwyn glanced up, unable to resist, and fixed her gaze on the infant in Éowyn's arms. He was a tiny thing, smaller than she could remember Elfwine being, with inquisitive grey eyes and a few wisps of the lightest brown hair. He seemed to be examining his surroundings apprehensively, glancing back and forth between his parents as if he were not quite certain who they were or how they had gotten there.

Yet more than the child, Gúthwyn's gaze was drawn to her sister. The White Lady she was no more: her cheeks were red, her skin aflush with delight as she cradled her newborn son to her breast. Together with Faramir at her side, it was a sight like nothing Gúthwyn had ever seen before; not even with Éomer and Lothíriel. The full force of it struck her hard, robbing her of breath—had anything ever been so beautiful, so perfect? And yet her emotions were nothing compared to her sister's, were only a shadow of the awe and joy that Éowyn must have been feeling… what Gúthwyn, alone of her siblings, had never felt.

_Could this be me and Cobryn one day?_ she wondered, now wholly unaware of what the midwife was doing. The woman could have delivered a second baby and she would not have noticed, so helpless was she to look away from the scene before her. How desperately she wanted what Éowyn had, how painfully she desired to be in her sister's place… it was beyond jealousy, beyond reason. It consumed her, warring against all other sensations until she scarcely knew what to feel anymore.

"Lady Gúthwyn?"

Éomund's youngest daughter started, then glanced over at Palanwen. The midwife was holding something in her hands, between Éowyn's legs, which Gúthwyn could not see. "The rest of the cord has come out," she said simply.

Trying to angle her head so that she was only looking at the cord, and not invading her sister's privacy, Gúthwyn peered over Palanwen's shoulder. Immediately, she recoiled: the sight was so repulsive, so disgusting, that she thought she might faint. A bulging sac of blood, its pale outer membrane was thin enough to reveal dozens of veins—innumerable like the branches of a tree, all connecting to the cord. The midwife's hands were turning scarlet.

"Excuse me," Gúthwyn managed to murmur, and she ran from the room.

She barely made outside before she was sick, retching violently into the nearest bush. She was so ill that she continued gagging even when she was done, clutching her stomach and shuddering as thick strands of saliva dribbled down from her lips.

"Gúthwyn!"

The shout came as she was wiping her mouth on the largest leaf she could find. Still nauseous, she gripped her stomach and looked up to see Legolas running towards her.

"What is wrong?" he demanded, reaching out as if to take her by the arm and pulling back at the last second. "Did something happen to Éowyn? The baby?"

"No!" Gúthwyn gasped immediately, lest he fear the worst. "No, she is fine, the baby is fine, it is a boy, and she is holding him, and… and…" She burst into tears.

"What is it?" Legolas pressed urgently.

Gúthwyn was crying so hard that she could scarcely breathe, let alone speak, and only by some miracle was she able to choke out a response. "Sh-She was _screaming_, a-and I thought she w-was going to die… She has n-never screamed like that before, i-it was _awful_…" She buried her face in her palms, attempting to shield her weakness from Legolas's gaze, but the tears leaked through her fingers and turned the backs of her hands wet.

She felt him draw closer to her; and then, slowly, tentatively, he pulled her into his arms.

The gesture, so unexpected, should have terrified her. And, for a moment, her heart stopped—but then her other emotions triumphed, and she collapsed against his chest as a fresh wave of tears cascaded down her cheeks. What did it matter who Legolas looked like, if he offered shelter from the storm? She needed this comfort more than she feared it. She needed him… needed someone to be there.

Yet she did not return his embrace. She kept her arms folded between them, the necessary barrier that allowed her to surrender. Legolas did not mind; he held her as she wept, his arms never straying from her shoulders.

"Éowyn is safe now," he gently reminded her. "And you have been given a nephew, who will bring as much joy to you as Elfwine has."

This only made Gúthwyn sob harder. Yes, she had nephews, two beautiful nephews, wonderful gifts to her sibling—yet they were sharp reminders of what she lacked. Why had she let Cobryn talk her into waiting years before making their betrothal official? A year from now, she could have been in Éowyn's place; she could have been carrying a son or a daughter in her arms…

"I-I am sorry," she whispered, her voice muffled against Legolas's chest; she doubted that he had even heard her.

"Do not be," he immediately responded. "You have every reason to be overwhelmed."

_You do not know half of it,_ Gúthwyn thought; but she let him console her all the same.

* * *

><p>Legolas imagined that he was holding glass, that the woman in his arms might break if he held her too tightly. He had known that Gúthwyn was small, but now he could scarcely believe <em>how<em> small—he could have wrapped two of her in his arms without difficulty, and the top of her head reached no higher than his neck. He felt her bones quivering against his.

She was still crying. He longed to comfort her, to offer her more support. But how? He was incredibly conscious of their connection, of all the places their bodies met and touched. He hardly dared to breathe, let alone move, for fear of disturbing her. She might recoil if he squeezed her shoulder, and she would certainly be terrified if he rubbed her back. Above all else, he could not smooth her hair away from her brow.

"Gúthwyn?" a voice asked behind him, laced with surprise and worry.

Legolas twisted his neck to see who it was; Gúthwyn's arm brushed against his chest as she pulled back slightly, and he could hear her trying to wipe away her tears. When his gaze turned up Cobryn, who was leaning on his cane and staring intently at the two of them, Legolas loosened his hold on Gúthwyn and allowed her to step away.

"Cobryn," she whispered, tears welling up in spite of her efforts to vanquish them. She moved towards him, in a way that appeared to be guided by instinct, then halted and glanced uncertainly at Legolas.

"Are you all right?" Cobryn asked sharply, his eyes finally turning from Legolas. "Is Éowyn? The baby?"

"They are both fine," Gúthwyn reported, trembling. "I just… I…" She broke down again. Cobryn stepped towards her; but he, too, stopped and looked at the Elf.

"I will leave the two of you," Legolas said quickly—for it was obvious that Cobryn was disquieted by his presence, though he took care not to let Gúthwyn notice.

"Thank you," Gúthwyn managed, already under Cobryn's arm. Legolas felt like an intruder, when before offering solace to Gúthwyn had come so naturally.

"You are most welcome," he told her, trying to ignore his disquiet. It was not his feelings that mattered, after all; what mattered was that Gúthwyn was comfortable with Cobryn, far more comfortable than she had ever been with him. Cobryn was the one she must turn to—he was, simply put, better for her.

Legolas left without another word; but when he was about to enter the dwelling, he paused in the doorway and glanced back. Gúthwyn was still weeping inconsolably, and Cobryn was murmuring something to her in Rohirric. It was not the first time the man had done this, Legolas knew.

He found his gaze lingering on Gúthwyn's slender arms, which she had wrapped half-heartedly around Cobryn, returning his embrace in a way that she had been unable to with Legolas. The Elf's veins throbbed suddenly with hatred: Haldor was the reason for this. Legolas had failed Gúthwyn because of him, because of what he had done to her in Mordor. And Legolas, powerless to change the past, could only try to pick up the pieces.


	79. Elboron

**A/N:** I still haven't finished Chapter 89 (I have that whole ten-chapter gap thing going), but I decided to post this anyway because a) it's been way too long, and b) I have to buckle down and pound out a research paper over the next five days, so I won't have time to work on Chapter 89. Once that's done, though, I think my workload is going to be significantly lower until finals! So, fingers crossed for a better updating schedule. =)

On another note, tickets for The Hobbit are already for sale, and some theaters are doing an "LOTR Trilogy" day on December 8th - that is, a marathon of all three extended editions. I've never attempted to watch all the LOTR movies in a row, so I may very well die, but I did see them individually in theaters last summer (or two summers ago?) and they were amazing on the big screen. So, if anyone else wants to test their endurance, you should check to see whether your local theater is doing something similar!

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Seventy-Nine<strong>

"Let me make sure that I heard you correctly," Cobryn said, after Gúthwyn had stopped crying long enough to explain to him what was wrong: "You were horrified by the child's birth, and by the pain it inflicted upon your sister… and yet you wish to ignore everything I said about waiting and proceed with our betrothal immediately, so that you can put yourself through what you just witnessed as soon as possible?"

"I know I sound insane," Gúthwyn admitted, wiping her eyes. "I know it does not make any sense. But still… I hated what it was doing to her, and yet at the end… I was—I was so _jealous_ of her, and of what she and Faramir had. Why should we have to wait for that?"

Cobryn shook his head. "Gúthwyn, I would do just about anything for you," he began seriously, placing both of his hands on her shoulders and looking directly at her, "but not what you are asking. You are forgetting yourself, and what would be required for us to have a child."

"Forgetting?" Gúthwyn echoed in disbelief. "You think I am _forgetting_ what would be required?"

"I cannot but wonder, when you speak of becoming pregnant within a year."

"Is it so wrong that I should want a child?"

"I never said that." The frustration in his voice startled her. "I know what it is like to long for a son or a daughter, but I also know that you are terrified of love-making and that the consummation of our marriage would only be marginally better than rape. If not forgetting, you are willfully ignoring the conception so that you can make peace with yourself for fantasizing about the birth."

"I—"

"Gúthwyn, please do not argue with me about this. Marriage is a binding contract, and I will not enter into it with you until you have no other choice," Cobryn said sternly.

"You speak of my choice, but what if I have already made it?" Gúthwyn demanded, glaring at him. For once, he did not understand her. "I want you to be my husband, I said as much when I agreed to your offer. No man will ever know me half as well as you do. You say I should have time to fall in love, but I shall not. What is the point of waiting?"

"You are settling for me because you are afraid, not because you want me," Cobryn retorted. "What you want is Borogor, but you are afraid to find someone like him. You are afraid not only to open yourself to love, but to tell your husband what you have gone through. You are afraid, and I am safe."

"That is not true," she whispered, fooling neither of them.

"It is nothing to be ashamed of," he told her, his grip on her shoulders tightening. "I know you have reason to be afraid—and I want you to have the chance to overcome your fears. You deserve a marriage of love, not one of convenience."

"With whom?" Gúthwyn asked, her frustration spilling into her words. "Even if I were attracted to someone in the first place, which I am not, no one in their right mind would marry the whore of Rohan."

"Do not say that about yourself," Cobryn ordered, shaking her. "You are not a whore. Although you should be getting paid at this point, for all the trouble those rumors have given you."

She could not help it: she laughed. "I would be richer than all the kings of Middle-earth," she mused, wondering if even that were adequate compensation.

Cobryn smiled, though when he next spoke his tone was serious. "Gúthwyn, I mean it," he began: "I will not ask for your hand in marriage a day earlier than your thirty-second birthday. I know you do not wish to wait, but I must beg for your patience."

Gúthwyn saw that he would not be swayed, and her shoulders slumped. "All right," she murmured.

"Do not despair," he bade her. "Your time will come."

She finished drying her eyes. "I hope you are right," she replied glumly. Her thirty-second birthday seemed decades away, and they had already decided that their betrothal would last for nine months—which meant that it might be another year until she became pregnant.

"Of course I am right," Cobryn said with a smile, releasing her. "Now go to your sister—she will be wondering where you are."

Gúthwyn would not have been surprised if Éowyn had completely forgotten her existence, but she agreed nevertheless. "Hammel and Haiweth—"

"Will be informed of the delivery, and are currently in the garden."

Éomund's daughter had nodded and was about to return inside, but then she paused. "Together?"

"He is reading, she is drawing—but yes, together."

Gúthwyn was pleasantly surprised. At least they could get along with each other, if not with her. "I will see you later, then?"

When Cobryn nodded, she walked back into the dwelling and retraced her path to Éowyn's chambers. It took but a moment to reach her destination; yet she lingered in the hall for some time, a burning ache pulsing through her soul and intensifying when she heard the baby's cry. Only when the sharpest edges of her grief were dulled could she muster her strength to open the door.

"Gúthwyn," Éowyn said in puzzlement when she entered the room. "Where were you?"

"I thought I would give the two of you some time alone," Gúthwyn explained, looking at the bundle in her sister's arms. "How is he?"

Éowyn sighed contentedly. "Elboron is wonderful," she murmured, exchanging a grin with Faramir.

"Elboron?" Gúthwyn echoed, turning the name over in her mind. It was not Rohirric, she noted sadly.

"Enduring star," Faramir translated. "A name we hope he will live up to."

_Elfwine and Elboron,_ Gúthwyn thought. It had a certain ring to it, she supposed. _Elboron and Elfwine._

"Would you like to hold him?" Éowyn asked softly.

Gúthwyn started, then looked wide-eyed at her sister. "A-Are you sure?" she stammered, bewildered. All she could think of was how, if she were in Éowyn's position, she would never want to let her child go.

Éowyn laughed at the expression on her face. "Of course! Come here, sit on the bed."

Gúthwyn tentatively lowered herself onto the mattress, then held out her hands for her nephew. Éowyn carefully placed Elboron in her arms, then smiled and drew back.

"He is adorable," Gúthwyn marveled, instinctively adjusting her grip so that she could better support the infant's neck. Fast asleep, Elboron did not stir. The tiny wisps of dark hair on his head fluttered in time with her breathing.

She barely heard Éowyn's response; all her attention was absorbed by her nephew, by the tiny fingers poking out from beneath his blanket. She stroked them, as gently as possible, and felt her breath stop when they flexed beneath her touch.

He was so small, so fragile—and he was perfect.

"Gúthwyn?"

The confused note in her sister's voice might have prompted Gúthwyn to glance up, had she been able to lift her eyes from her nephew. "Yes?" she asked, carefully rocking him.

Only in the silence that followed did she realize that she was crying.

* * *

><p><em>Dear Father,<em>

_Amrothos's penmanship has deteriorated remarkably since his last letter, and he hardly seemed himself in the one I just received from him. He was half-rambling during most of it, though he was clearest when he was saying that Elphir hates him and will no longer speak civilly to him. I know Elphir is rightfully angry, but Amrothos appears to be taking their falling-out quite badly. I am starting to fear for his health._

_I have not returned home since my marriage, but I believe that time has come. I will have to speak to Éomer first, and I will have to make arrangements for my duties to be taken care of while I am away, but by the grace of the Valar I will be able to leave no later than two weeks hence…_

_Alas, I fear the only one I am fooling is myself. Éomer has made no secret that he wishes I were far, far away from Rohan, but he trusts me no further than he can throw me and would never permit me to be out of his sight for so long. No doubt he believes that I would resume my scheming ways, especially with Amrothos involved. Then there is the fact that returning to Dol Amroth would make me happy, which he certainly could not countenance. He hardly speaks to me anymore, except to utter civilities in Elfwine's presence—and even those are forced, as if they cost him every last ounce of self-control. I cannot remember the last time we had a conversation._

Lothíriel realized what she was writing and, with a sigh, crumpled up the parchment. She tossed it aside, watching bleakly as it fell upon the others and scattered them. It was not the first time, or even the fifth, that this letter had turned on her and tried to make her reveal that which she was carefully concealing from her father. She knew something was wrong with Amrothos; that was what she had meant to write about. Yet it was proving difficult to concentrate on his condition when her own was so miserable.

There was a knock on the door. It was not the soft, timid knock of the maids who barely looked at her anymore—it was the harsh, impatient knock of Éomer, his fist against the door a measure of his feelings for her.

"Come in," she called, using her foot to sweep the ruined letters under her desk.

Éomer opened the door, but he seemed to grudge even the smallest of steps he took into the room that had once been his. "I have had a letter from Éowyn," he announced without preamble, his voice cutting sharply through the air. By this point, Lothíriel knew better than to attempt small talk. "She has given birth to a boy named Elboron. Both she and the baby are doing well."

"That is wonderful." Though Faramir was no longer as friendly with her as he had once been, he was still her cousin and she was happy for his sake. "When are we going to visit them?"

The look Éomer gave her sent chills down her spine. "Elfwine and I will leave next week. You will rule the kingdom in my stead."

His words were like a slap in the face, and for a moment she wished that he had actually hit her: it would have hurt less. "Éomer—" she began, stunned.

Her husband continued as if she had not spoken. "My advisors will be on hand to assist you if you cannot read your reports. I expect to return within the month, whereupon you will be relieved of your duties."

"A month?" Lothíriel echoed, doing some quick calculations in her head. It was the middle of May; a month would bring them well into June, which meant… "You intend to celebrate Elfwine's birthday in Ithilien?"

"Not only Elfwine's," Éomer replied coolly, "but Elboron's and Gúthwyn's."

She rose to her feet, almost without realizing it. "You cannot do this."

"I cannot?" Éomer asked, his voice deadly quiet.

"Elfwine is my son as well as yours," she insisted. "You have no right to withhold him from me like this."

"As a king, I have every right to take my heir where I please," Éomer retorted. "Bringing Elfwine to visit his cousin can hardly be considered withholding him—even by you, who takes such delight in twisting others' actions."

She had thought herself inured to his barbs; but she had not anticipated that Éomer, angry as he was, would prevent her from celebrating her own son's birthday. "And what of Elboron?" she asked, clutching the edge of her desk so tightly that, were its craftsmanship any lesser, she would have gotten splinters. "Am I to be denied the sight of my nephew?"

"Your cousin is in agreement with his wife that, while Gúthwyn resides in Emyn Arnen, you are not welcome in their household," Éomer informed her. "You have done enough harm to my baby sister without inflicting your presence on her."

She should have expected that: Éowyn despised her, no doubt. Yet it was another blow all the same. "So you have come to tell me"—she almost accused him of gloating, but one look at his face convinced her otherwise—"that I cannot be with my son on my birthday, and that I shall never see my nephew?"

"He is only your nephew by a marriage you spat upon," Éomer growled. "And you are perfectly welcome to visit him—once my sister has returned to Rohan, that is, and you have begged her forgiveness for your deeds."

Which was precisely the last thing Lothíriel would ever do. Defiantly jutting her chin, she refused to dignify Éomer's challenge with a response. "Does this mean that I am allowed to attend councils again?" she asked, as icily as she dared. She had not gone to once since the day after Gúthwyn's departure, when Éomer had detained her before she entered the room and warned her not to test his limits.

"I have no doubt that you will be able to re-acclimate yourself," Éomer said, his words dripping with anger. "In fact, if you put half as much effort into the task as you did into ruining Gúthwyn's life, I daresay I will come home to find all the realm's problems resolved." With that, he left her and slammed the door behind him.

A burning lump formed in her throat, but she would not allow herself to cry. _Weeping is for the weak,_ she told herself, blinking rapidly. _Not for the princess of Dol Amroth._

"The queen of Rohan," she reminded herself dully, though nothing had ever felt further from the truth. _More like the burden of Rohan._ And of late, she had been joining the ranks of the weak.

Yet no longer. If she was to govern Rohan successfully in Éomer's absence, she needed to prepare herself accordingly. There was no time to mourn her circumstances, nor to feel anything more than a pang of regret for the trip to Dol Amroth she would not be taking. She did not want Éomer's advisors—_her_ advisors, now—to think that she was a simpleton, so she would have to carefully review every report, account, and ledger from the past year. It was her duty, after all.

She would also have to summon her tutor and instruct him to double their lessons in Rohirric, for all the good that would do. The day she mastered her husband's tongue might never arrive, but it would not be for lack of trying on her part. Resignedly, she abandoned the letter to her father and pulled a small grammar book from the top drawer in her desk.

Half an hour later, she sighed in frustration and tossed the book down. Conjugating Rohirric verbs was useless—she had already mastered most of them, and indeed could write and read the language fairly well, though it took her a frustratingly long time to get through even the smallest of paragraphs. Where she truly faltered was when it came to conversing. Her accent was abysmal, and the right words always danced maddeningly beyond her tongue's reach. If only she had someone to converse with, who would not laugh at or become irritated with her when she made a mistake… but the Valar knew where she would find someone like that, now that Éomer could barely look at her.

With a sudden cry, she seized the grammar book and flung it as far away from her as she could. Before it had time to hit the wall she had swept her papers off the desk, all the conjugations she had worked so carefully and stupidly on, deriving a bitter pleasure from watching them scatter in every direction. This was her life now.

"Mama?"

Lothíriel's head snapped up, startled. Her gaze fell upon the door, which Elfwine had somehow managed to open without her realizing it. He was peering into the room, looking uneasily at the mess on the floor.

She mustered a smile, as if to say that all of this were normal. "Hello, Elfwine. What are you doing here?" She grimaced at how stilted she sounded.

"Did you drop everything?" Elfwine asked instead of answering her question, slipping in through the door and approaching the ruins of her latest attempt to master Rohirric. He squinted at one of the pages, trying to make sense of the words. Then, to Lothíriel's surprise, he picked it up and gave it to her. "Here, Mama." He bent down to retrieve the others.

"Elfwine, you do not have to clean up my mess," Lothíriel reprimanded him, embarrassed. She hastily knelt on the floor and gathered what she could, not wanting her son to think he was responsible for her mistakes.

Elfwine's head drooped. "Sorry, Mama," he replied, backing away.

"What is wrong?" Lothíriel asked him, surprised by his behavior. "Elfwine?"

"Papa said—" Elfwine hesitated, looking as if he wished he had not spoken. "Papa said you can't go with us to see Auntie Éowyn and Uncle Faramir."

"Well, someone has to take care of the kingdom while your father is away," Lothíriel pointed out, reminding herself that criticizing Éomer would not be fair to Elfwine. It was not his fault that his parents were no longer on speaking terms with each other. She hated the fact that he was caught in the middle of their marital problems, especially since she had a sinking feeling that he was far more perceptive than either she or Éomer wanted to admit.

"We'll be gone a _month_," Elfwine said, his eyes wide. To a boy his age, a month was slightly shorter than eternity. "You'll be alone the whole time."

Lothíriel's face tightened, but she did not allow her voice to betray her. It was perfectly steady as she replied, "I will have plenty of tasks to keep me occupied. You do not have to worry about me."

Elfwine nodded glumly, yet it was obvious that her response had been inadequate. Lothíriel grimaced, at a loss for what else to tell him.

_What would Gúthwyn say?_ she caught herself wondering.

Immediately, she bristled at her mind's insubordination. _Auntie_ Gúthwyn may have been Elfwine's favorite, Éomer's favorite, everyone's favorite; but Lothíriel was not about to look to a harlot for parenting advice.

"I'll miss you, Mama."

She almost did not hear Elfwine's gesture of remorse, so timidly was it offered. He had drawn closer to her, his arms hanging loosely at his sides. Her heart dropped when she realized what he was afraid to ask.

"Do you want a hug, Elfwine?" she queried softly, wondering how it had come to this. How her son, once vivacious and carefree, had grown so frightened of his own parents that he believed he could no longer count on their love.

Her son's lower lip trembled as he nodded. "Yes, please," he whispered, an instant before flinging himself into her barely ready arms. Lothíriel held him close, bending down to kiss the top of his dark locks. "Will you miss us, Mama?" he mumbled into her shoulder.

"Of course I will miss you," Lothíriel swiftly replied, though she was only partially telling the truth. A week from now, she would not be sorry to see her husband leave—that man was a stranger, not the Éomer whom she loved. "I will miss you every day. You shall have to tell me all about your new cousin when you return."

"I don't _want_ to see my new cousin," Elfwine insisted. "I want—I want—" He pulled away from her, biting his lip.

It used to hurt more, knowing that he wanted Gúthwyn, but Lothíriel could not bring herself to feel anything other than a dull ache. It was obvious now that her husband's sister had won the war long before it had even begun—she had been a fool to think that the outcome would be different. Everyone loved Gúthwyn; Lothíriel had only ever been in the way.

When Elfwine started to speak again, she braced herself. He surprised her, however, by saying, "I want everything to stop."

"Everything?" Lothíriel echoed. "What do you mean by that?"

"I mean _everything_," Elfwine said angrily, stomping his foot on the ground. "I want Auntie Gúthwyn to stop being away and I want Papa to stop being mean and I want you to stop being so sad and I hate _everything_!" He burst into tears.

"Oh, Elfwine," Lothíriel whispered, drawing him back into her arms as he sobbed and sobbed. "Elfwine, honey—" She realized that she did not know how to comfort him. What could she say, when there was nothing she could do? Éomer's hatred of her would have to run its course, and Gúthwyn was not like to return to Edoras for quite some time; nor could she swallow her pride enough to apologize, even insincerely, to the other woman.

"It will all work out for the best, you shall see," she finally settled on murmuring, though she did not believe her words in the slightest. Nor, it seemed, did Elfwine. He continued crying, his tiny shoulders shaking with each fresh round of tears. Lothíriel's self-loathing reached dizzying heights.

"_I hope," Éomer snarled, "that driving my baby sister from her home was worth breaking your son's heart."_

No matter how many times she tried to ignore the memory, it kept coming back. No matter how many times she tried to tell herself that Éomer had been over-exaggerating, her doubts continued to resurface. And regardless of whether she was right, regardless of whether Elfwine was better off away from his aunt's influence, even Lothíriel could not pretend that he was happy.

_No child should have to tiptoe over such eggshells,_ she thought sadly.


	80. A Long-Awaited Reunion

**A/N:** I saw The Hobbit last night and - no spoilers - it was AMAZING. Words cannot describe how wonderful it is to be back in Middle-earth again.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Eighty<strong>

The last day of May was a fine one indeed. The vale of Emyn Arnen was awash in sunlight, the sky above startlingly azure. There was nary a cloud in sight, and the temperatures were warm—so warm, in fact, that Gúthwyn decided to take her letter-writing outside, rather than remain in her room all day.

She settled herself on the porch that wrapped around the western side of the dwelling, where the light would linger until late in the evening and she could take comfort in the notion that she was facing home. Not half an hour passed before Cobryn joined her, book in hand; and Haiweth arrived shortly after, carrying several sheets of parchment and her collection of drawing utensils (which had grown considerably during their stay in Emyn Arnen).

"Who are you writing to?" Haiweth asked as she sat down, squinting at the letter Gúthwyn was hunched over. Éomund's daughter showed her, suppressing the slight tremor of unease she felt when the girl's forehead creased in a frown. "Legolas?" Haiweth asked, pushing the letter back. "Why?"

Although there was certainly nothing illicit about her correspondence with Legolas, Gúthwyn's cheeks grew hot under her companions' scrutiny. "Because he is a friend of mine," she said simply.

Haiweth wrinkled her nose. "Why?" she asked again.

That was a harder question to answer. "Because… Because he has always been kind to me," she stammered, speaking more to her letter than to Haiweth.

"But—" the girl began, before falling silent rather abruptly. Gúthwyn glanced at her, only to realize that she had exchanged a look of sorts with Cobryn. "What is he even writing to you about?" Haiweth finally asked, a sullen edge to her voice.

"Well…" Gúthwyn cleared her throat. "He just asked me about how Elboron was doing, so I am telling him about how well-behaved he is."

"He is so quiet," Haiweth said, dropping the subject of Legolas. "I remember Elfwine used to cry all the time before Queen Lothíriel started letting you take care of him."

Cobryn snorted at this, his eyes never leaving his book.

"Yes, Elboron is much less of a handful," Gúthwyn agreed with a smile.

There was a lull in the conversation, and Éomund's daughter turned her attention back to her letter. _Éowyn and Faramir are absolutely thrilled to be parents,_ she wrote. _Éowyn spends much of her time walking around with him in the gardens, and Faramir often reads to him—usually from horrendously boring history books, the kind that Cobryn loves (the Valar know why)._

"Gúthwyn?" Haiweth's hesitant voice broke her concentration.

"Yes?"

Haiweth fiddled with the edges of her parchment. "Do you love Elfwine more than Elboron?"

Gúthwyn gaped at her in astonishment. "Haiweth, why on Middle-earth would you ask such a question?"

"Because you were always with Elfwine, and I almost never see you with Elboron," Haiweth pointed out, flushing.

Gúthwyn pursed her lips, knowing that there was some truth in Haiweth's words. She had not been spending as much time with Elboron as she would have liked, but that was only natural when Éowyn did not have the same rigorous duties as Lothíriel. Gúthwyn had, of course, offered to watch Elboron whenever Éowyn desired to relax, but the need had rarely arisen. And even though she was more than welcome to accompany Éowyn on her walks with Elboron, the little prince had soon revealed himself to be quite fussy in the arms of anyone other than his parents. Gúthwyn could scarcely hold him for longer than a few minutes before he began squirming, ready to return to his mother.

"Elfwine and Elboron's situations are quite different," she reminded Haiweth, sighing. "Elfwine always had to be watched because his parents were in meetings, whereas Elboron is fortunate that his parents are not under such constraints."

Haiweth did not seem satisfied with her response. "But you are happier when you talk about Elfwine."

Luckily, Cobryn intervened before Gúthwyn had to figure out a reply. "She has had five years of memories with Elfwine, and only a couple of weeks with Elboron," he pointed out.

Haiweth still appeared rather skeptical, but she shrugged and went back to work on her drawing. Gúthwyn shot Cobryn a grateful look; he smiled gently at her and returned to his book. She watched him for a moment, amused by the way his brow knit ever so slightly as he absorbed the words on the page. _This is nice,_ she thought suddenly: her and Haiweth and Cobryn, all sitting together like a family.

This was what it would be like, if—when—she married Cobryn. Nothing about their relationship would have to change. She already spent most of her days with him; they had practically raised Hammel and Haiweth together for almost a decade; and how many times had he comforted her over the years, murmuring reason and logic into the panicked haze of her mind?

Some things would be different, however. Gúthwyn imagined a small child sitting at the table with them, pestering Haiweth with questions about her drawing and then peering over Cobryn's shoulder in an attempt to make sense of what he was reading. A boy, perhaps? Or a girl? Or even—her insides fluttered at the thought—both? _You would be lucky to have just one,_ she reminded herself sternly. _And you will likely not have time for more than that._

"What are you thinking about?"

Gúthwyn was startled (and embarrassed) to realize that she had been gazing at Cobryn the entire time she was contemplating their betrothal. "Oh, nothing," she quickly told him, relieved when Haiweth did not glance up from her drawing. "Just… nothing." She picked up her quill and stared down at the letter, though in truth everything she had written was a blur.

She felt the weight of Cobryn's gaze upon her, but she refused to look up and eventually he started reading again. Even when she was no longer under his scrutiny, however, his words came back to haunt her. _You are afraid, and I am safe._

He was right, of course: she was afraid. She was afraid of trusting a man with her body, and with her secrets. Yet why should that matter? She did not have to be in love with Cobryn to be happy with him. He would treat her well, and he would be a wonderful father. Yes, she would have to lie beneath him on occasion, and she would despise it; but he would be gentle, and once she conceived it would all be over. Besides, if truth be told… she sometimes longed to share her bed with someone, someone who would keep the nightmares at bay. Cobryn could do that.

But did he want to? She surreptitiously glanced at him, wondering if he were looking forward to their union as much as she was. She knew she could never replace Feride in his heart, nor did she intend to try. She also knew that he had advised caution, and that he was determined to delay their betrothal—yet he was also being perfectly reasonable. Or was he perhaps being _too_ reasonable?

Doubt gnawed at her insides. Surely the fact that he had volunteered to wed her not once, but twice, was enough to prove his sincerity. And he wanted children just as much as she did, which counted for something. But what else did he stand to gain from their marriage? Would it not be easier for him to remain single, so that he would not have to feel guilty whenever he thought of Feride?

_Not to mention, you are hardly the ideal bride,_ she thought, sighing. It was inconsiderate of her to think only of herself, of the comfort he would bring her in the nights when the awful dreams took hold—especially when he was the one who would awaken and have to calm her down. Then there were all the times she sickened during the year, times when he would have to take care of her. Her face burned with shame: she was a burden, really, nothing more than damaged goods. Did Cobryn realize what he was shackling himself to?

She heard a chair scraping across the floor; she felt his presence grow stronger. "How is your letter going?" he inquired. The arm closest to her rested gently on the surface of the table, mere inches away from her own.

She knew that his real question was not the one he was asking. "Fine," she whispered, trying not to draw Haiweth's notice. "It is… I am… I am having second thoughts about what to write, that is all."

Their eyes met. "Can I help?"

She did not have the chance to answer. Hammel appeared in the doorway, looking considerably harried. "Haiweth, did you…"—his voice briefly died down when he noticed Gúthwyn—"…borrow my quill?"

Haiweth glanced up at him, startled. "Oh, sorry," she finally said, comprehension dawning, "I forgot to return it. I left it on my desk, near the candle."

Gúthwyn cleared her throat and smiled at Hammel, remembering how happy she had felt with Haiweth and Cobryn before her gloomy thoughts took over. "Would you like to join us?" she asked, gesturing at the table. "It is wonderful out here, and we have plenty of space."

Yet Hammel was already retreating into the dwelling. "I am busy," he muttered before disappearing.

"Busy?" Gúthwyn echoed, frowning after him.

"I bet he is writing to Aldeth," Haiweth said, with an air of confidentiality. "He sent her a letter last month."

Cobryn raised an eyebrow. "He told you that?"

"Well, no," Haiweth admitted. A guilty flush stole over her features. "I found the letter in his room."

Gúthwyn gave her a sharp look. "Did you read it?"

"Maybe…"

"Haiweth!"

"I just wanted to know if they had kissed or not," Haiweth said, her expression pained. "But the letter did not say."

"Do not snoop through your brother's belongings," Gúthwyn reprimanded her. "You would not like it if he did the same to you."

Haiweth had the good grace to look embarrassed. "I am sorry," she muttered. "I just thought… well… he never tells me anything about her, even though I know he is in love with her."

"I would not take it personally," Gúthwyn suggested wryly.

"Being in love is, for many, a private experience," Cobryn reminded Haiweth. "I would not expect Hammel to open up to you, even if he were not so reclusive to begin with."

Haiweth sighed. "I suppose you are right," she grumbled.

Not long after, Haiweth gathered up her drawing supplies—"I lost all my inspiration," she sighed—and left the porch. Scarcely had the door closed behind her when Cobryn turned to Gúthwyn and asked, "What was troubling you earlier?"

"Do you really want to marry me?" Gúthwyn blurted out.

Cobryn looked at her in astonishment. "Why are you asking me this?"

"You did not answer the question." Gúthwyn stared at the table, willing herself not to cry.

"Gúthwyn—" He sighed, and her heart dropped. "You know we are not in love with each other."

"That is not what I meant," she whispered, trembling.

His brow knit in confusion. "Then what did you mean?"

"I meant… I meant…" Gúthwyn struggled for words until, finally, she burst out in frustration, "I meant that you probably have better things to do with your life than to take care of me, because I have nightmares and panic attacks and I always get sick or injure myself and I know I am an inconvenience and—and—even though you want children you would probably be better off having them with someone other than me—"

"Gúthwyn, you are not an inconvenience," Cobryn swore, gripping her arm the way he could not have while Haiweth was in the room. "You could never be. Do you think I would have offered to marry you if I were not willing to do so?"

Tears began spilling over onto Gúthwyn's cheeks. "Maybe you just do not realize how much is _wrong_ with me," she choked out, wiping uselessly at her face.

"You are recovering from years of traumatic experiences," Cobryn retorted. "There is nothing wrong with that. I have always done what I can to help you, and my only regret is that I have not been able to do more."

"No, no, you have done too much—" Gúthwyn could barely speak through her tears.

"Listen to me," he said, taking her by the shoulders and gently pressing his forehead against hers. "You and I have this in common: we both desire children, but we are too stubborn and foolish and afraid to let go of the ghosts in our pasts. The ones we really want are dead and gone, yet still we cannot bring ourselves to try again. I may not be in love with you, but I love you; and if that is the best that either of us can manage, then for both of our sakes I think we should give each other what comfort we can. I know what I am doing, and I am not frightened by your panic attacks or your illnesses or anything that you say is wrong with you."

Gúthwyn sniffled and took his hand, interlocking their fingers. "D-Do you promise that you are not doing this out of pity?"

"I promise."

"A-And do you promise that you will benefit from this, too?"

Cobryn chuckled. "You cannot bear the thought of me wasting away in our marriage, never mind the fact that I was the one who suggested it."

"Cobryn, please…"

"I promise," he said firmly.

She smiled, her eyes watery. "All right," she whispered, squeezing his hand. "All right."

* * *

><p>On the day Éomer and Elfwine were scheduled to arrive in Emyn Arnen, Cobryn, knowing full well that Gúthwyn would not be able to sit still for excitement, engaged her on a long hike to one of the spots they had found in their quest to plan the perfect day for Éowyn and Faramir. It took them a while to find it, mostly due to the many wrong turns they took upon Gúthwyn's insistence that she remembered where they were going—but at last, once Cobryn assumed the lead, they had reached the meadow. It was high up in the hills, mostly enclosed by towering trees, but with a stunning view of the forests to the north. They had previously rejected it for Éowyn and Faramir because, on a clear day, it was possible to see the mountains of Mordor: a thin dark line along the right side of the horizon, hardly remarkable unless you knew what it was. Today, however, the day was hot and hazy enough that—as Cobryn had predicted—they were completely obscured.<p>

The climb had made both of them eager for lunch, and they wasted no time in spreading out their picnic. After they ate, they lay down to facilitate their digestion, and passed the time in pleasant conversation.

"I cannot wait until Éomer and Elfwine get here," Gúthwyn murmured at length, more to herself than to Cobryn.

Cobryn responded anyway. "I heard you the first ten times," he teased her. She might have said it ten more times, though, and he would not have been annoyed—he knew how important today was to her.

"Can you believe it has been almost a year since I left Rohan?" she asked after a moment, sighing.

She could tell what Cobryn was going to say the second he opened his mouth, and she regretted having spoken before he so much as uttered a syllable. "Éomer would take you back with him," he told her seriously. "You would only have to say the word, and you would be home in time for a long summer."

"You know I cannot do that." Gúthwyn grimaced, taking fistfuls of her dress and squeezing. She saw Cobryn watching her, but he was tactful enough not to mention what she must have looked like. "No matter how much I want to. What time do you think it is?"

"Probably time to head back," Cobryn said, letting the change of subject slide.

"Éowyn said he would be here in the late afternoon," Gúthwyn pointed out. "It cannot be more than two hours past noon."

"Three hours past noon," Cobryn corrected her, propping himself up on his elbows, "and we have an hour's hike back to the house."

"I suppose you are right, then," she agreed, sitting up. As much as she had enjoyed lying beside Cobryn, basking in the sun's rays while they conversed, she was not about to miss a single second of her brother's visit.

Beside her, Cobryn sniggered.

"What?" Gúthwyn asked suspiciously. "Do I have something in my teeth?"

"No, but there are several somethings in your hair," Cobryn replied, smirking.

Gúthwyn quickly tousled her locks and groaned when practically the entire meadow fell out of it. Grass, leaves, even a flower or two—she was hardly in any shape to go indoors, let alone welcome guests. "Now we really have to leave," she said, sighing. "I will have to give myself a bath before I am presentable!"

"Not to mention change your dress," Cobryn remarked, "unless you care to start a new trend of grass-stained clothing."

Gúthwyn's head twisted around so quickly that she was lucky it did not snap in half, and she gave a cry of dismay when she saw green smears all up and down the blue dress she had donned specifically because it was a gift from Éomer. "You have got to be kidding me," she grumbled.

"Come on," Cobryn said, chuckling at her misfortune. "If we hurry, you will have time to clean yourself up."

They packed up the remains of their picnic and left the meadow, though not without Gúthwyn taking one last look. It really was a beautiful place, she thought; almost enough to dull the edges of her constant homesickness. She was glad that she and Cobryn had found it, for it was worth returning to.

"So," Cobryn began after they had walked in silence for a time, "are you still planning on confronting Éomer about Lothíriel?"

Gúthwyn shot him a quick look, but decided to humor him: he was clearly doing his best to refrain from expressing disapproval. "Yes," she said. "Of course."

"Do you think you will get any information from him?"

"He has to at least explain why Lothíriel did not join him for the trip," Gúthwyn replied, frowning.

"I would think the answer is fairly obvious," Cobryn was unable to resist pointing out. "Besides, I doubt Éowyn would have let her come. Even if Éomer were in a conciliatory mood, he would not have brought her."

"But to not even mention her!" Gúthwyn exclaimed. "She is only his wife and the mother of his son, yet to read his letters since I left Rohan you would never guess that she existed!"

"Perhaps you should wait to see how Elfwine is handling the situation," Cobryn suggested. "It may be that he is not aware of anything amiss."

"You overestimate my brother's capacity for restraint," Gúthwyn said darkly, "and you underestimate my nephew's perceptiveness."

"All I am suggesting is that it might be wise to learn more about the situation at home before you act," Cobryn responded, using his cane to nudge aside a shrub that had been encroaching upon the path. "Éomer is here to meet Elboron—at least let him do that before you subject him to an interrogation."

"I am hardly going to jump on him the second he dismounts from his horse," Gúthwyn replied, rolling her eyes. "Give me some credit, at least."

After nearly an hour, the trees began to thin and look more familiar: they had reached their destination. No sooner had they broken free of the woods, however, than they were accosted by Haiweth.

"Where have you been?" she asked them impatiently, her gaze roaming over the slight sheen of sweat on Cobryn's forehead and the mess that was Gúthwyn's hair. "They are already here! Éowyn sent me to look for you."

She had missed Éomer and Elfwine's arrival! Berating herself for tarrying so long in the meadow, Gúthwyn demanded, "When did they get here?"

"Ten minutes ago," Haiweth reported. "They are all waiting for you in the hall. What happened to your dress?"

Cobryn smirked, and Gúthwyn made a face at him before answering, "I will have to change before I can see everyone. Please, tell Éowyn that I will not be long."

Haiweth nodded and took off at a rapid pace, obviously taking her role as a messenger very seriously. Gúthwyn and Cobryn continued on to a different entrance, where they could enter without having to pass through the main hall. They parted ways once they were inside, with Gúthwyn returning to her bedroom and quickly discarding her dress. Leaving it in a heap on the floor, she rooted around in her wardrobe for a suitable alternative and pulled out the first gown her hand fell upon. She smiled when she saw it: a hand-me-down from Éowyn, a soft brown dress that reminded her of home.

She donned the outfit and brushed out her locks, taking care to remove the last few pieces of grass. All the while, her insides were humming with excitement. In just a few minutes, she would be reunited with her brother and her nephew, ending their months-long separation. She could not wait to walk around Emyn Arnen with Elfwine at her side, babbling happily along as he was wont to do. And to see his interactions with Elboron... she impatiently tossed aside her brush and all but ran from her chambers.  
>By the time she reached the main hall, she could hear a low murmur of conversation emanating from its confines. Gúthwyn's heart leaped when she recognized her brother's deep voice, punctured intermittently by Elfwine's high-pitched chatter.<p>

For the briefest of moments, Cobryn's words echoed hauntingly in her mind: _You could tell Éomer that you want to go back with him to Rohan. You could be home in as little as a month._

It was tempting... so tempting...

"_AUNTIE GÚTHWYN!_"

She had crossed the threshold without realizing it, and she barely had the chance to look up and see the group of visitors before a small figure, no more than a blur, darted out of their midst. Gúthwyn knelt down and opened her arms just in time, reeling backward from the contact as her nephew launched into her embrace.

"Elfwine," she murmured, regaining her balance and drawing him in as close as she could without crushing him.

"You're back!" Elfwine shrieked. Gúthwyn's eardrums nearly shattered, but she held him even tighter and bent down to plant a soft kiss on his head.

"I have missed you so much, little one," she whispered. "You have gotten so big!" He was certainly taller than she remembered, and her arms were not overlapping around his shoulders as much as they used to. _I will not be able to pick him up anymore,_ she thought sadly.

"That's because I _am_ big!" Elfwine exclaimed, indignant. "You forgot, silly!"

"Of course I did," Gúthwyn replied indulgently, kissing his brow.

"Now, now, son, let someone else have a chance," a deep voice boomed above them.

As Elfwine scowled and stepped away, Gúthwyn glanced up at her brother. For a moment, they merely gazed at each other; then, Gúthwyn almost tripped over her dress in her haste to fling herself into his arms. "Thank the Valar you are here!" she choked out.

Éomer's embrace was so strong that he lifted her off of her feet, nearly breaking her ribs in the process. "Baby sister, it has been too long," he said, exhaling. "You look good."

When they separated, Gúthwyn realized that she could not say the same for her brother. He looked—there was no other word for it—haggard, as if he had not had a good night's sleep in months. He had even lost some weight, and there were lines on his face that had not been there when she left Rohan. Yet though her instinct was to exclaim over his appearance, she bit her tongue and reminded herself that she was waiting to confront him in private. "I am so glad to see you," she murmured instead, hugging him again.

"Papa, you're taking too long!" Elfwine complained, nudging his way in between them and wrapping his arms around Gúthwyn's leg.

Éomer laughed and obligingly released Gúthwyn. "I doubt he will want to leave your side anytime soon," he warned her, as she reached down and ruffled Elfwine's hair. "He has been talking about you non-stop ever since the trip was arranged."

Gúthwyn beamed. "I do not mind," she assured her brother—a vast understatement. "Has he met Elboron yet?" She glanced over to where Éowyn and Faramir were watching them, all smiles, with Elboron nestled securely in Éowyn's arms.

When she looked back at Elfwine, however, she was surprised to see him frowning.

"He is not used to sharing attention," Éomer quietly explained, rolling his eyes.

"All he does is _sleep_," Elfwine huffed.

Gúthwyn could not help but laugh at that—Elboron _was_ a sleepy infant. "Little one, you did an awful lot of sleeping when you were his age."

"No, I did not!" Elfwine insisted, scandalized.

"I hate to say it, baby sister, but he is right," Éomer said with a chuckle. "He did not sleep nearly enough."

Elfwine narrowed his eyes, certain that his father was making fun of him but unable to determine how. Gúthwyn stifled a giggle and, as consolation, interlaced her fingers with his smaller ones. The wrinkles on his forehead smoothed out immediately, and he beamed up at her. "Guess what!" he exclaimed.

"What?" Gúthwyn obliged him as they started to walk back towards Éowyn and Faramir.

"Papa says that we're going to see the Elves!" Elfwine cried, jumping up and down in delight. "We're going to see where Leggy lives!" The prospect was so exciting to him that he let go of Gúthwyn's hand and raced around her in circles, only to come back and announce, "He's the best Elf."

Gúthwyn could not help but smile. "Yes, he is. And I am sure he will be very glad to see you."

"Will Ran-in, Trelan, and Faelon be there, too?"

"Trelan and Faelon will."

Elfwine frowned. "What about Ran-in?"

"He might have business to attend to," Gúthwyn said gently, not wanting her nephew to be disappointed when Raniean inevitably avoided their party. "But you will be able to see everyone else."

As she spoke, they reached Éowyn and Faramir. The former gently handed Elboron to her husband and said, "Come, brother, I will show you and Elfwine to your quarters."

Éomer grinned. "A thousand thanks. It has been a long journey, not least because of this one." He affectionately mussed up Elfwine's hair.

"Papa!" Elfwine complained.

Éowyn laughed merrily. "Well, both of you will have time to rest before dinner," she promised. "Please, follow me."

"Auntie Gúthwyn, are you coming?" Elfwine asked anxiously.

"Of course, little one," Gúthwyn promised.

"Good." Elfwine scowled. "I _hate_ it when you're not here."

Éowyn and Éomer, already conversing about the activities Éowyn had planned for the visit, did not hear Elfwine's remark; but a sense of uneasiness washed through Gúthwyn as her nephew tightened his grip on her hand, and she wondered at the anger radiating through his voice.


	81. Catching Up

**A/N:** It's been a while, to say the least. In the past year, I have: finished my thesis, graduated from college, obtained employment, finished another multi-chapter fic, and finally rebuilt my usual ten-chapter gap (which had slipped to seven chapters by the time I last updated this story). My routine has settled, and with it my writing schedule, so I'm cautiously optimistic that I can resume posting on a regular schedule. Miracles do exist?

**Recap (since I'm sure it's needed):** Gúthwyn, Hammel, Haiweth, and Cobryn are living in Ithilien with Éowyn, Faramir, and Elboron (Gúthwyn's newest and very sleepy nephew). Éomer and Lothíriel's marriage remains in tatters, with Elfwine caught in the middle. Legolas is struggling with his feelings for Gúthwyn, though he is not quite sure what those feelings are; at any rate, Thranduil and Raniean disapprove.

Unbeknownst to Legolas, Gúthwyn and Cobryn are "engaged to be betrothed," with the agreement that Cobryn will propose on Gúthwyn's 32nd birthday if she a) has not found love and b) still wants children more than she fears marriage. Neither Éowyn nor Éomer have been informed of this development, as Gúthwyn believes they would discourage her from giving up on a love match.

Meanwhile, Hammel is still angry, Haiweth remains enthralled by Gondorian society (much to Gúthwyn's dismay), and in Dol Amroth Prince Amrothos's health is steadily worsening.

**In today's chapter:** Éomer and Elfwine have arrived for a visit in Ithilien—sans Lothíriel, and just in time for Gúthwyn and Elfwine's birthdays.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Eighty-One<strong>

"I hope these accommodations are to your liking," Éowyn said cheerfully, gesturing around the quarters she had arranged for her brother and her nephew.

Éomer opened his mouth to respond, but he was cut off by a sharp gasp from Gúthwyn. "Oh, those are adorable!" she cried, staring in delight at the tiny bed and miniature set of drawers that Éowyn had requisitioned for Elfwine.

"Elfwine, those are for you," Éowyn explained, sharing a grin with Éomer over Gúthwyn's reaction. She could not hold his gaze long, for fear that she would start laughing.

"For _me_?" Elfwine's eyes grew almost comically round.

"All for you," Éowyn assured him, smiling down at her nephew. He gaped at the drawers in fascination, his hand still clutching Gúthwyn's—as it had been since their reunion. Not once had he or his aunt shown the slightest sign of wanting to let go.

Éomer winked at Éowyn. "Baby sister, would you be able to help Elfwine unpack?" he inquired innocently—for it was obvious that Gúthwyn was itching to examine the furniture.

"Of course!" Gúthwyn exclaimed, thrilled to be of service. With a grateful look at Éomer, she bent down and murmured in Elfwine's ear, "Come, little one, let us put away your things."

As the two of them scurried off, chattering gaily, Éowyn smiled and turned her attentions to Éomer. "Can I be of any assistance to you, brother?"

"You have done more than enough already," he assured her warmly. "But I would not object to conversing with my sister while I unpack."

"That, I can manage."

"Tell me," Éomer began as he opened one of the bags that the servants had brought in, "how have you been adjusting to being a parent? Is it all you had hoped it would be?"

"All and more," Éowyn replied, her chest swelling with happiness. "Words could not describe how wonderful an experience it has been."

"Have you been able to sleep well?" Éomer looked surprised when she nodded. "I remember that Lothíriel and I—" He abruptly broke off. "For the longest time, Elfwine refused to sleep through the night. I daresay I cannot remember half the decisions I made in council those few months."

"Fortunately, Elboron does not have that problem—not yet, anyway," Éowyn said. She and Faramir, it seemed, had been blessed with good fortune in that regard. "Indeed, he is very quiet. I would almost be worried, for he rarely makes a sound, but my midwife has told me that her own son was the same way and turned out perfectly healthy."

"Perhaps he has inherited Faramir's personality," Éomer suggested with a grin. "I certainly recall you being a loud infant."

"You do not!" Éowyn retorted, laughing. "You were only four at the time, you cannot possibly remember."

"Not as well as with Gúthwyn," Éomer allowed, "but well enough."

They lapsed into companionable silence as the unpacking progressed, allowing them to better attend to the incessant conversation between Gúthwyn and Elfwine. It was difficult to say which one of them was in higher spirits; they were both so glad to see each other that the effort of putting Elfwine's belongings away was impeded by frequent embraces and the occasional story or two. Such was their distraction that Éomer had closed his trunk long before Elfwine's far smaller one was half-emptied.

"I have not seen my son this happy in months," Éomer remarked wistfully.

Éowyn shot a glance at him, wondering—not for the first time—if she had been wrong not to pay more heed to Gúthwyn's concerns about Elfwine's welfare. "Because of Gúthwyn's absence?" she inquired guardedly.

Éomer nodded, yet there was clearly more to the story. "He misses her greatly. Though I would not deprive you of her company, I wish she would return."

"She seems to believe that her self-imposed exile is for Elfwine's benefit." Éowyn, for her part, strongly disagreed with that line of thinking. It was not Gúthwyn's fault that Lothíriel had never taken the time to develop a stronger bond with her son, and tearing him away from his beloved aunt could hardly have contributed to his wellbeing. "I have tried again and again to convince her otherwise, but she is as stubborn as always."

"Meanwhile, Elfwine's relations with his mother have scarcely improved," Éomer said, his eyes darkening with anger. "I told her they would not—" He paused, then sighed. "Let us discuss happier things. Our baby sister looks well."

They both glanced in Gúthwyn's direction. The woman was laughing at something her nephew had said; her eyes were shining with joy, and every so often a grin seized hold of her for no apparent reason.

"Her health has improved tremendously since my last visit to Rohan," Éowyn confirmed. "She has been sick only once or twice since her arrival."

Éomer noticed the hesitation in her words. "Yet?"

"Yet I would not say that her spirits are improved," Éowyn finally answered. "Emyn Arnen will never be her home. She greatly misses Edoras, though she conceals the depths of her longing for fear of upsetting me." She could not say that Gúthwyn's kindness was wholly gratuitous. Although she now understood why the other woman had delayed visiting Ithilien for so long, it still stung occasionally to know that, the moment Elfwine and Lothíriel's relationship was sufficiently mended, Gúthwyn would bolt from the forest and never return.

"I wish there were a way to talk some sense into her," Éomer murmured, watching as Gúthwyn exclaimed profusely over the small furniture. (Elfwine was somewhat less enthusiastic, but willing to humor her—his aunt's happiness was the important thing.) "She is doing no one any favor by catering to my wife's needs."

_Not necessarily,_ Éowyn thought suddenly, working to conceal a smile. _Legolas no doubt finds the shorter trip a convenience._

* * *

><p>The knock on the door to Legolas's study was a welcome relief from the tedium of paperwork. Glad for the excuse to set aside the stack of reports he had been plodding through, the prince glanced up and called, "Come in."<p>

"I heard you were looking for me?" Trelan asked, letting himself into the room.

"Yes, I was." Legolas rose to his feet. "Would you shut the door behind you?"

Trelan raised his eyebrows as he complied. "Is something wrong?" he asked as he watched Legolas vacillate, debating on how best to explain the situation to his friend.

"Can I trust in your utmost discretion?"

"Of course."

"I would rather my father not know about this… Not that it is anything terribly important," Legolas hastily amended, embarrassed. "However, I have… a dilemma of sorts."

Having been assured that the matter was not serious, Trelan was already struggling to conceal a smirk at Legolas's obvious discomfort. "And what, pray tell, is the nature of this dilemma?"

Legolas glared at his friend for a moment, but his mock irritation quickly subsided as his worries resurfaced. "As you know, we will soon be hosting King Éomer and Prince Faramir." Trelan nodded. "And they will be arriving a few days after Prince Elfwine and Lady Gúthwyn's birthdays."

"I have never understood why mortals celebrate their _birth_days, and not their begetting days."

"I does seem strange to me," Legolas admitted, "though I suppose they would have the same opinion about our customs."

"Are you planning on doing something to celebrate Lady Gúthwyn… and Prince Elfwine's birthdays, then?" Trelan inquired.

"Not quite." Legolas hesitated, hoping that what he was about to say would not sound excessively foolish. "I thought I might carve another toy for Elfwine, and perhaps… Perhaps I might do something for Gúthwyn, as well. Do you think… Would that be inappropriate? I would not want to place her in an uncomfortable position, not if her family would misinterpret—if it were to be construed in the wrong light—"

To his credit, Trelan did not laugh. "I am afraid I am unfamiliar with mortal gift-giving customs," he said apologetically. "Did you have something particular in mind?"

"That is another problem, for I do not." He remembered his own words to Éomer, years ago—_Something tells me she would rather have your company than a present._ His past self had spoken wisely: Gúthwyn did not have many material possessions, nor did she appear to lack anything. Her true desires, he knew, were beyond his reach.

Trelan had yet to speak. "You think it unadvisable?" Legolas asked cautiously.

When Trelan's brow furrowed, suggesting that he was struggling to find a polite way of saying yes, Legolas sighed. In all likelihood, his friend was right. If he were to give a gift, even a small trinket, to Gúthwyn, it might cause speculation amongst her family—and his own friends. The last thing Gúthwyn needed was another reason for Raniean to despise her.

"Legolas?"

"Yes?"

"Perhaps…" Trelan paused. "Instead of wondering how her family might view your bestowing a gift upon Lady Gúthwyn, you ought to consider how it would make Lady Gúthwyn herself feel."

Legolas glanced out the window, his gaze piercing through the forest that separated his colony from Emyn Arnen. Until now, he had only ever given Gúthwyn flowers—and on one of those occasions, she had been grieving for the loss of a friend. He certainly did not want to alarm her and risk losing their friendship, not when they had come so far since their travels during the War of the Ring. He would rather content himself with a simple "happy birthday" than make her uncomfortable or self-conscious; above all else, she could not discover the effect she had on his emotions. With Haldor still looming over her memories, she would be horrified to learn the truth. She would push him away, understandably so, and he might never see her again.

A cold chill swept through him at the thought. No matter how much he tried to ignore his feelings, to assure himself that he only desired Gúthwyn's companionship, it was becoming increasingly harder to do so. This loss of control frightened him: he had never experienced anything like it, had never had someone invade his mind and memories so frequently.

"You are right," he told Trelan abruptly, pulling himself out of his reverie. "It would be wrong of me to be so forward. I should not have considered it in the first place."

Because for all of Legolas's agonizing, one simple fact remained. To Gúthwyn, he would only ever be a friend… and a living reminder of a monster. To imagine that anything else might be possible was to delude himself.

* * *

><p>Gúthwyn had determined to give no further consideration to Cobryn's haunting suggestion that she could easily return to Rohan with Éomer and Elfwine, but over the next couple of days she found it increasingly difficult to maintain this resolution. Her brother and nephew's presence was an unending source of joy—particularly the latter's. Elfwine was as inquisitive and talkative as ever, and not a moment of silence went by without his breaking it. He followed Gúthwyn around everywhere, clamoring for her attention; and she gave it freely, showing him around Emyn Arnen and regaling him with a bevy of stories that she had prepared specifically for his visit.<p>

She did not, of course, ignore her other nephew. Elboron was not nearly as interested in her as Elfwine, preferring to sleep in her arms on those rare occasions that he consented to let her hold him at all, but she made sure to spend time with him at least once a day. In truth, it was sometimes hard to manage even that—Éowyn and Faramir were so enamored of their son that she often felt uncomfortable intruding upon their devotions to him. Then there was the matter of Elfwine, who was quite jealous of his cousin and would scowl whenever they were in the same room together.

Yet Gúthwyn saw enough of Elboron to keep her satisfied, and any inadequacies of the arrangement were smoothed over by the delight she felt in being able to converse again with her brother. The first couple days of his visit, she delicately skirted the issue of his marriage; instead, she pressed him for information about the realm and its people, inquiring minutely into the affairs of her friends and acquaintances.

"You know," Éomer said, laughing, when Gúthwyn's queries focused on a woman of such low importance that even Éomer was having trouble recalling who she was, "it would be easier if you came back home and saw them for yourself."

He spoke in jest, but there was an undercurrent of seriousness in his tone that his eyes could not quite conceal. Gúthwyn dropped her gaze, swallowing the wave of longing that had suddenly swelled within her. She would not allow herself to be taken in. No matter how much Rohan's open fields and Edoras's crowded streets called to her, she would resist all temptation until her brother's family had healed. Judging by the troubled look that crossed her nephew's face whenever she tentatively mentioned his mother, her exile would be long indeed.

For a time, neither she nor Éomer spoke. They were on one of the riding paths wide enough to accommodate both Sceoh and Firefoot, and the forest around them was quiet; only the soft thumps of the horses' hooves against the dirt and the occasional birdsong trespassed upon the silence. Gúthwyn took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of moss and flowers. She was glad to be here with her brother, after almost a year of nothing but letters.

Eventually, Éomer cleared his throat and looked at her. "How have you been, baby sister?"

The question, or rather the seriousness of his tone, caught her by surprise. She knew instinctively that he was not looking for any of the answers she might normally give, that he did not want her to lie for his or Éowyn's sake.

"I know not," she finally admitted after a long deliberation. "I suppose you could say that I am happy. I have made some friends. And Cobryn… Cobryn has been so helpful." She paused, worried that she had inadvertently given it all away; but Éomer simply waited for her to continue, and she realized that the remark had not registered in his mind as the least bit suspicious. For some reason, this bothered her. _You were quick enough to suggest that we marry before,_ she thought. _Why not now?_

Part of her wanted to tell Éomer about the plans she and Cobryn had made. She felt guilty for keeping something this important from her siblings, for essentially forging her future behind their backs. Yet another part of her knew that, regardless of how well-intentioned Éowyn and Éomer were, they would not understand why she was willing to give up on love. They would try to talk her out of marrying Cobryn; Éomer might even forbid it.

"And yet...?" Éomer prompted her.

It took her a moment to remember what they had been discussing. When she did, she sighed and shook her head. "Éowyn has been so kind to me. And I love Elboron."

"What of Faramir?" Éomer asked gently.

Gúthwyn shrugged. "I doubt I shall ever be friends with him," she replied. "I like to think that we understand one another, that we can forgive each other for what happened in the past and try, at least for Éowyn, to move on. Sometimes I even manage to forget for a few minutes what he did. But I will never be rid of it, and neither will he. We have just learned to accept it for what it is."

"It grieves me to hear you speak like this," Éomer murmured. "You seem more resigned than anything, as if you are settling for this life even though it is not the one you want."

Unbidden, a memory stirred in the corner of her mind. _You are settling for me because you are afraid, not because you want me._

Gúthwyn shrugged, reluctant to admit that Éomer and Cobryn were likely right. Yet what could she do about it, when she hardly knew what she wanted in the first place? As of now, there were only two things that she desired for herself: to live out the rest of her days in Rohan, and to bear children. The former she had no doubt she would achieve, despite her current circumstances; the latter, she and Cobryn had made arrangements for. Theirs would not be a match like Éowyn and Faramir's, but was a marriage based solely on friendship really so terrible? Why search for love and expose herself to all of its uncertainties? She could endure a stay in Ithilien, for it was only temporary—yet if she erred in her choice of husband, she would not escape those constraints so easily.

"Gúthwyn?"

She quickly shook her head. "I am fine. You do not have to worry for me."

"And yet I do." Éomer sighed. "I want you to be happy."

"I am," Gúthwyn insisted. "Really. You and Elfwine are here now, and I have Éowyn and Elboron, and Hammel and Haiweth. What more could I need?"

Éomer's reply was soft, yet the words still hung in the air between them. "Your home."

"Éomer, please…" If he started trying to convince her to return to Rohan, she did not think she would have the strength to resist.

"You do not belong to this forest," he said quietly, his dark gaze holding hers. "You belong to the open fields. To your people."

Gúthwyn could see Rohan in her mind's eye, the rolling plains that collided with distant mountains and the green banners whipping in the wind. She could envision herself walking down the streets of Edoras, greeting everyone in sight and hearing nothing but Rohirric for hours on end. Then she would return to Meduseld, the stones dark and cool beneath her feet as she walked by the servants and the tapestries and the hearth…

Only with an immense effort could she will herself back to the forests of Ithilien. "You are right," she agreed, sighing. "But for now, my place is here."

"I do not believe that," Éomer countered. When she did not respond, he continued, perhaps sensing weakness. "Do you have any idea how much Elfwine misses you?"

Gúthwyn's resolve wobbled. "As much as I have missed him," she answered softly.

"Not a day goes by without him asking when you are coming home, what you are doing now, and when he can see you again. He is not himself anymore, he barely smiles or laughs—he is miserable without you, baby sister. The two of you used to spend nearly all of your waking hours together, and now he will be lucky if he can see you once a year. I know you meant well, but your departure has only hurt him."

Gúthwyn's heart twisted at the thought of her nephew in such pain. All she had wanted was to give him a chance to form a bond with Lothíriel; she had never intended for him to suffer so much. "Has his relationship with Lothíriel improved at all?" she asked desperately.

Éomer's features darkened. "Lothíriel shuts herself in her room and only emerges for mealtimes. Elfwine stays with her while I meet with my council. I cannot say he gets anything out of it."

"Why? Have they not grown closer?" Surely Elfwine would ask Lothíriel to tell him stories, or to assist him in battle with his wooden figures? At the very least, would not Lothíriel make the most of her rival's absence to win her son over?

"That would require Lothíriel to demonstrate an ounce of decency," Éomer growled. "Small wonder Elfwine never seemed to enjoy playing with her as much as he did with you—he had the better measure of her than I ever did." He let out a disgruntled snort.

"Éomer…"

At the expression on Gúthwyn's face, Éomer sighed. "I know you would have me mend our relationship, but I still cannot look at her without thinking of what she did to you. And that is not your fault, baby sister—you should not have to pick up the pieces of a mess that is not yours."

Gúthwyn swallowed and stared off into the distance, until the trees became indistinguishable from one another. As much as she hated being away from Rohan, she had consoled herself by believing that her absence would give Elfwine a chance to bond with his mother. Now, faced with the disappointing truth, she wondered if it would not be best to return home and provide her nephew with what little stability she could.

She soon came to her senses. If she took up residence in the Golden Hall once more, Lothíriel would be cut out of the picture entirely. The only thing she would accomplish was alienating the queen even further, gouging into an old wound and allowing her resentment to fester between them. How would that benefit Elfwine? Quite simply, it would not.

"Can we discuss something else?" she asked, wearily, when Éomer opened his mouth to add more fuel to the already tempting fire of his argument. "I cannot… Not now…"

The pleading note in her voice must have convinced him, for they spent the rest of their ride talking about how well suited Éowyn was to the role of motherhood.


	82. Immortality's Burden

**Chapter Eighty-Two**

Gúthwyn and Elfwine's birthdays passed quietly, enjoyably, and—most importantly—unremarkably, lacking any and all calamities that Éomund's daughter might have expected (there being an unfortunate amount of overlap between her previous birthdays and the worst days of her life). Éowyn and Faramir marked the occasion with a feast large enough to accommodate Gondorians and Rohirrim alike, and Gúthwyn took advantage of the festive atmosphere to catch up with the guards.

She learned that Eohric and Ecgulf had married, and that Ecgulf was already expecting a child (for which he received some good-natured ribbing). Hunwald had read Merry's treatise on the Ents several times, and was eagerly awaiting the Hobbit's next visit to Rohan. Elfhelm and Erkenbrand had been kept busy as Marshals of the East- and West-mark, respectively; they had been away from Edoras for most of the year, and had only returned to escort the king to Ithilien.

Although conversing with her friends was not the same in Faramir's hall as it was in Éomer's—the atmosphere in the former lacked the boisterousness of the latter—their presence made Gúthwyn feel more at home than she had in a while. She spent the rest of the feast dividing her attentions between Elfwine and Elboron; though, if truth be told, her eldest nephew was more adept at drawing her notice.

The evening culminated in a small exchange of gifts, with Gúthwyn receiving a new gown from each of her siblings. The dress from Éomer was dark green with a golden belt; it looked wonderfully comfortable, and she knew immediately that she would wear it often. Éowyn had enlisted Haiweth's services, the resulting design being very reminiscent of Queen Arwen's wardrobe. It was a deep blue color, shot through with silver threads and embellished with another golden belt. Gúthwyn actually gasped when she touched the fabric, and quickly decided that she did not want to know how much it had cost.

Her delight, however, was no match for Elfwine's, who was thrilled to receive a book of Gondorian fables from Gúthwyn and a set of knights from Éowyn. Yet it was his father's present which prompted the greatest shout of happiness: a wooden sword, complete with its own little belt and sheathe. Elfwine was so excited that he leaped out of his seat and challenged Éomer to a duel, necessitating the hasty creation of a "no fighting at dinner" rule.

(Elboron was too busy sleeping to examine his gifts, though he now had enough toys to keep him occupied for quite some time.)

A few days later, they made the journey to Legolas's colony. Or rather, some of them did—Hammel and Haiweth refused to go, as usual, and Cobryn agreed to remain at Emyn Arnen with them. Gúthwyn felt bad for her friend, who thus far had been unable to see the colony for himself, but she did not have the heart to force Hammel and Haiweth to do something they were so adamant against.

With the addition of the Rohirrim to their entourage, the ride was infinitely more enjoyable for Gúthwyn than it had been in the past. Elfwine's presence alone was enough to distract her from the thought of being surrounded by Elves, at least for a little while. Her nephew spent the entire trip talking about "Leggy" and "Tree-on" and "Fye-on," much to the company's amusement.

"Papa, can Leggy teach me how to shoot? Please?" he begged more than once, bouncing so energetically in the saddle that Firefoot looked distinctly annoyed.

"What happened to wanting to learn how to use a sword?" Éomer asked. He winked at Gúthwyn, who had a feeling that she knew what Elfwine's response would be.

She was right: her nephew blinked in bewilderment and demanded, "Why can't I do _both_?"

Gúthwyn, Éowyn, and Éomer all laughed at his reaction, which only made him even more confused. "I want to be like Leggy!" he exclaimed indignantly. "Auntie Gúthwyn says he's the best archer _ever_!"

Gúthwyn hoped that no one would notice her blushing. She had hardly been extolling Legolas; she had just mentioned in passing to Elfwine that he was the most talented archer she knew, which was perfectly true. Yet Éowyn and Éomer might see it differently…

Fortunately, Elfhelm leaned over before either of them could comment. "We could certainly use some more archers, my lord," he addressed Éomer, grinning. "Hunwald is one of the few who regularly practices at it."

"_I'd_ practice!" Elfwine assured him. "I'd practice the most out of everyone!"

"I am sure you would, little one," Gúthwyn said fondly. "But you might need to wait until you are older to start learning archery." Left unspoken was the fact that archery required more focus than she suspected Elfwine capable of demonstrating.

She was surprised when Éomer, instead of nodding in agreement, shot her a conspiratorial grin and shrugged. Perhaps he was seriously entertaining the idea of having Elfwine begin archery lessons—maybe even with Legolas. Gúthwyn frowned, unsure of how she felt about that. Legolas had always been wonderful with Elfwine, but… Well, of course there would be supervision. She pushed aside the memories of Haldor 'instructing' her on how to use a bow, willing them to have no effect on her.

Once her mind was at ease, she glanced at her nephew and considered just how much he would benefit from Legolas's tutelage. Elfwine looked up to the prince, and Legolas was incredibly patient with him. She remembered all the times Elfwine had sat by her side, gazing adoringly up at Legolas as he listened to one of the Elf's stories. It was a rare occasion for her nephew to stay quiet for more than a few minutes, but when he did it was usually because of Legolas.

She remembered other things, as well: the steady cadence of Legolas's voice, soft and melodic as he recounted a grand adventure; the animated gestures he would make, so unlike his usual mannerisms that they would constantly surprise her; and his eyes meeting hers over Elfwine's head, just long enough for him to grin in such a way that her breath caught in her throat.

Gúthwyn flushed when she realized the nature of her thoughts. It was most unseemly, how far they had wandered… She shook her head, embarrassed. There was no reason for her to be dwelling upon those memories.

A shout from Elfwine drew her to her senses. "Papa! Auntie Gúthwyn!" Once he had their attention, he swept his arm out in a grand gesture, covering all the forest above and in front of them. "There are Elves _everywhere_!"

Realizing that they had at last reached the colony, Gúthwyn found herself quite impressed with her nephew's eyesight. She never got more than the briefest of glimpses at the Elves who (for reasons utterly beyond her comprehension) always watched their guests' arrivals from various perches on the surrounding trees, but Elfwine had obviously discerned a great deal of them amidst the foliage. He craned his small neck to stare at them all, his face lighting up an instant before he started waving.

Gúthwyn thought she heard laughter from the trees, yet before she could become angry on Elfwine's behalf the boy beamed at her. "They waved back!" he reported.

"_Elf-friend_ indeed," Éowyn murmured to Éomer, chuckling. The king of Rohan nodded, squinting into the trees with no more success than Gúthwyn.

"Auntie Éowyn, do you and Uncle Faramir come here a lot?" Elfwine asked, still waving to the Elves.

Éowyn and Faramir exchanged amused glances. "Quite often," Éowyn replied. "Legolas is a very kind host."

"Perhaps, if you ask nicely," Faramir added, "he might let you see where all the Elves practice archery."

Judging by the ecstatic look on her nephew's face, Gúthwyn had a feeling that, in practice, "ask nicely" would translate into "pester relentlessly until Leggy gives in."

* * *

><p>Legolas greeted them at the entrance to his dwelling, and—after quite the energetic conversation with Elfwine, which ended only when Éomer reminded his son that there were, in fact, other guests to whom their host must pay attention—arranged for some stable hands to take away their horses. Correctly guessing that his visitors were in need of a repose, Legolas then brought them into his home, promising Éomer and Elfwine a more detailed tour once they were settled in their rooms.<p>

Éomer's men followed close behind their king, and more than once Gúthwyn glanced back to find the Rohirrim gaping at their surroundings in slack-jawed amazement. "This place has been built around the trees!" she heard Hunwald marvel as they passed a door that opened out onto a wraparound porch.

Gúthwyn was not certain, but she thought she saw Elfhelm grimace in distaste. The Marshal clearly harbored little love for forests—and who could blame him? Not only had he witnessed the fearsome power of the Ents, which had fortunately been unleashed upon the forces of Isengard rather than their own, but she herself had been attacked by Orcs in the Firienwood whilst under his care.

They reached Gúthwyn's chambers first, the same quarters she had been given during her last stay. She parted from the company, much to Elfwine's disappointment, and closed the door behind her. After dropping her belongings on the first empty surface available, she went straight for the luxurious bed and flopped ungracefully onto the covers. She was not intending to take a nap, but the mattress was so comfortable and inviting that she felt herself sinking deeper and deeper into its embrace…

She awoke some time later, refreshed from the day's travels, and decided to change out of her riding gown. Since no one had come in to rouse her, she assumed that dinner had not started; she must not have slept for very long, though one could never tell with unexpected naps.

After a moment's indecision, she selected her new green dress. She had been saving it for a special occasion, and tonight was as good as any. As she stepped into the skirt, she had the startling thought that she would not be changing by herself for much longer. A few years from now, she and Cobryn would be getting ready for dinner together. He would be there while she was undressing, while she stood there in naught but a shift and shimmied her bare legs into a gown.

_I hope he turns away,_ she thought, alarmed. She glanced at herself in the mirror, taking note of all the scars that had ruined her body. The worst were still on her back; she did not permit herself to examine them for more than a few seconds. Her cheeks grew red as she imagined Cobryn's gaze traversing these marks, and redder still as she imagined herself seeing his.

_You still have three more years,_ she reminded herself. Closer to four, really. She prayed it would be enough to grow accustomed to the idea of baring herself to him, though she doubted it would.

She had just pulled the last sleeve over her shoulder when she heard a knock at the door. "Come in," she called, glancing quickly at herself in the mirror to ensure that nothing was amiss.

Her visitor turned out to be Legolas, who hesitated in the doorway. "Have I come at a bad time?" His eyes darted to the riding gown on the floor.

"Not at all! Please, come in." Gúthwyn hurriedly picked up the garment and stuffed it into her wardrobe, wondering what the women of Dol Amroth would think of her for receiving someone in her room while there was evidence that she had recently undressed. "It is good to see you."

She had spoken automatically, because it was the polite sort of thing that people said to one another, but as soon as the words left her mouth she realized that they were true. It _was_ good to see Legolas, and her spirits had lifted at the sight of him. He was the same as ever, even down to the gentle smile he was giving her. She took comfort in the familiarity of his presence, which had been an unexpected constant to her over the years.

"It is good to see you, also," he said, stepping into the room. "You look"—she got the surprising impression that his lips were forming the word _beautiful_, but at the last second he changed his mind—"wonderful." He glanced away for an instant. "Happy belated birthday."

"Thank you." Gúthwyn smoothed out the folds of her dress, nervous. "It was a gift from Éomer."

Legolas smiled again. "The gown is lovely," he agreed, "but I meant to compliment you, not it."

"Oh!" Gúthwyn blinked, flustered at having misinterpreted him. "Well… Thank you. How… How has your day been?"

Inwardly, she winced at how abrupt the transition had been, but Legolas did not seem to mind. "Quite unremarkable," he replied. "How was your journey?"

"Good." There was a small pause, and she rushed to add, "Elfwine certainly enjoyed it. He is very excited to be here."

"I heard he has excellent eyesight. Not many of our mortal visitors have noticed so quickly that they are being watched."

"Yes, I was surprised that he could see them all so well. Certainly better than I could." Gúthwyn dropped her voice to a conspiratorial level. "I ought to warn you: Faramir has put it into his mind that he might be able to see the archery range. Elfwine will probably be asking you about it every other minute."

Legolas's eyes sparkled. "I would be happy to oblige Elfwine," he assured her. "He need not ask more than once."

"He got a wooden sword for his birthday," Gúthwyn reported, "so he is in quite the young warrior phase. Already he wants to learn both sword-fighting and archery." It was difficult to subdue the tendency to swell with pride when she thought of how eager a student Elfwine promised to be—and how fortunate he was that Éomer could afford the best instructors for the job.

"It is best to start young," Legolas remarked. "Especially for a prince."

"How old were you when you started training?" Gúthwyn inquired, sitting down on her bed for no other reason than because she felt awkward standing by herself in the middle of the room.

Legolas remained on his feet. His brow was furrowed in thought, and it was a moment before he answered. "In truth, I cannot remember the first time I held a bow. I have known how to use one for so long that I cannot imagine ever _not_ knowing how."

Gúthwyn was surprised to hear this. Granted, she supposed she had a reason for being able to vividly recall the details of her first sword lesson; but she would have thought that the initial excitement, the rush of adrenaline at finally being able to wield a weapon, would remain with a person forever.

"Do you remember the first time you rode a horse?" he inquired, detecting her thoughts.

Gúthwyn frowned, realizing that she did not. "It was probably before I could walk. Or speak." One of her parents would have taken her, perhaps wrapped her up in a sling while going at a gentle pace; yet she had no memories of either of them, let alone any activities that they might have done together.

Legolas turned away, and she stared at him in confusion for a few seconds before she heard the footsteps. Loud, uneven, and rapid, they were also undoubtedly Elfwine's.

"Leggy!" he cried an instant later, appearing in the doorway with a mischievous grin. "Papa says I'm not supposed to call you that," he added, lowering his eyelashes. Anyone who did not know better would have believed him repentant.

"Elfwine," Gúthwyn scolded half-heartedly.

"Auntie Gúthwyn! Why did you change your dress?" Without waiting for an answer, Elfwine zipped over and launched himself onto the bed. "This is the best place _ever_!" he announced to no one in particular, rolling onto his back and panting a little as he stared up at the canopy. Abruptly sitting up, he fixed his gaze on Legolas. "How many Elves are here?"

Legolas looked as if he were struggling not to laugh. "A couple hundred. It is not very large."

Elfwine's eyes widened at the number: "a couple hundred" was quite large to him. "Is that one of Papa's flags?" he asked next, noticing the Rohirric banner that hung on the wall across from Gúthwyn's bed.

"It is," Legolas confirmed. "I put it here for your aunt so that she would be reminded of home whenever she came to visit." He winked at Gúthwyn, whose cheeks grew hot with a strange mixture of pleasure and embarrassment.

Elfwine considered Legolas's response, peering owlishly at the flag. "You're very nice to Auntie Gúthwyn," he finally said.

Without missing a beat, Legolas replied, "She deserves it. She is a very kind woman."

Elfwine nodded, oblivious to Gúthwyn's mortification. "She gave me stories for my birthday! We read one about the Núm'nóreans and they tried to sail across the ocean so they could live forever just like the Elves, but they weren't allowed to do that so they drowned."

"And Númenor with them," Legolas said quietly.

"Why can't humans live forever like Elves?" Elfwine wanted to know. As he spoke, he wriggled over until he was leaning against Gúthwyn.

"It is simply the way things are, little one," Éomund's daughter murmured, smoothing his hair away from his face. "And the way they have been since the beginning of time."

"But it's not fair," Elfwine protested. "I don't want you or Mama or Papa to die." His eyes started filling with tears.

Gúthwyn quickly wrapped her arms around him and planted a soft kiss on his brow. "Your parents and I have no intention of dying anytime soon," she assured him, exchanging a somber glance with Legolas. "We all have many more years ahead of us."

Elfwine sniffled. "I want to be like Leggy," he mumbled.

A shadow fell over Gúthwyn. She glanced up at Legolas, surprised that she had not noticed him moving—then again, perhaps she should not have been. "Elfwine, being immortal may seem wonderful," Legolas said, crouching down so that the young prince did not have to crane his neck to see him. "But I can assure you that it would not be very wonderful to watch all of your mortal friends die."

"Is that what you're going to do?" Elfwine asked with a gulp.

Legolas nodded, his eyes clouding with regret. "Have you ever stayed up past your bedtime?"

Elfwine looked confused by the change of topic—even Gúthwyn did not understand where Legolas was going with this—but he said "yes" all the same.

"And when you did, did you feel tired?"

"Sometimes I fall asleep and Papa has to carry me to bed, but I don't remember it because I'm asleep," Elfwine offered.

Legolas grinned. "Well, that is a little bit what being immortal is like: staying up past your bedtime and becoming more and more tired the later it gets. Only for Elves, it takes ages upon ages for us to feel that fatigue. And we will never truly fall asleep until the world ends."

"You stay awake _forever_? And you never sleep?" Elfwine demanded, gaping at Legolas in astonishment.

"Not quite," Legolas replied with a chuckle. "Elves do sleep, but not the way that Men do. We sleep with our eyes open."

Elfwine looked as if the world had been turned upside-down right in front of him. "You _do_?"

"We do. In fact, Elves can sleep while running or walking."

"You're pulling my leg!" Elfwine cried. Gúthwyn had to bite her lip to keep from giggling.

"I promise, I am not pulling your leg." Legolas, too, was putting up a valiant fight to remain serious.

"Then prove it!"

"I have seen him do it," Gúthwyn told her nephew, though it was not—strictly speaking—true. She remembered him lying down occasionally to rest with the other members of the Fellowship, but she had never ventured close enough to examine him.

Rather, it was Haldor whom she had witnessed, on those mercifully rare occasions when he had forced her to spend the night.

"You _have_?" Elfwine asked skeptically.

Gúthwyn pulled her thoughts away from Mordor and smiled. "I have. When we traveled together during the War of the Ring."

Elfwine's lips pursed. "That's the one that Papa was in, right? With all the big battles?"

"Correct." Gúthwyn ruffled his hair. "Your father has told you about the Battle of Helm's Deep and the Battle of the Pelennor Fields before. Both times, he and the _éoreds_ came in at the last moment to save the day. Do you remember those stories?"

"Yes… But why did you and Leggy travel together?" Elfwine wanted to know.

Gúthwyn and Legolas locked eyes, each remembering the rocky beginnings of their friendship. "I believe that is a story for another day, little one," Gúthwyn said cheerfully. "We will be having dinner soon."

Elfwine straightened at the mention of food. "Leggy, are Tree-on and Fye-on going to be there?" His voice rose several eager notches.

"Aye, they will."

"And Ran-in? Does he like me yet?"

Legolas hesitated. "He will not be present tonight. I am sorry."

"Oh." Elfwine's shoulders slumped. "But can I see him tomorrow?"

"I am afraid he will not be around during your visit," Legolas replied, sighing. "He has some business that he must attend to."

"Like my papa?"

"Yes, like your father," Legolas agreed. Gúthwyn gave him a sympathetic smile.

"Oh." They waited for Elfwine to press the issue, but instead he shrugged. "I'll see him next time," he decided.

Legolas rose to his feet. "Dinner should be ready now," he said. "Shall I accompany you to the table?"

"I should bring this little rascal to his father first," Gúthwyn replied. Elfwine's look of outrage made her grin. "Éomer might be wondering where he is. We will meet you there in a few minutes."

"But I want to go with Leggy." Elfwine pouted, demonstrating a considerable flair for dramatics.

"Not this time, little one. We have to find your father." Gúthwyn gently ushered her nephew to his feet.

They followed Legolas out of the room, much to Elfwine's disappointment. "Bye, Leggy," he said mournfully.

Legolas bade farewell to him, and then winked at Gúthwyn when the young prince turned his back. Éomund's daughter grinned to herself, glad that she was finally friends with Legolas—it was a thousand times better than hating him.

Unexpectedly, the image of his eyes twinkling with mirth lingered in her thoughts long after they separated.


	83. Elfwine's Tour

**A/N:** Whoops - turns out the chapter I spent over a month working on is actually too long for one chapter, so now it's two. Accordingly, I'll be posting another chapter sometime tomorrow!

Who's excited for The Hobbit next week? So ready for my flawless prince Legolas to grace the screen again... and very curious to see Thranduil. ;)

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Eighty-Three<strong>

"Auntie Gúthwyn, wake up!"

"Elfwine?" Gúthwyn mumbled, half-tangled in blankets and dreams.

"Stop being so sleepy!" The mattress bucked beneath her as Elfwine jumped up and down. "Leggy just spoke to Papa and we get to go to the archery range after breakfast!"

"We do?"

"Yes!" Elfwine shrieked, indignant that his audience was still bleary-eyed. "Papa says we have to wait for you, so _hurry up_! Please!"

"Did Papa say that you could wake me up?" Gúthwyn was unable to resist asking.

The mattress stopped moving. "No…"

"Then should you be waking me up?" Gúthwyn inquired, turning into her pillow so that Elfwine could not see her smile.

"No…" Elfwine flopped onto the blankets, his face landing mere inches from her own. "Sorry," he mumbled.

It was no use: Éomund's daughter could not have resisted her nephew even if she had wanted to. Only in the interest of good parenting did she make a point of saying, "You should be listening to your father. Now"—she lifted her head and poked him on the nose—"you need to leave so I can get dressed for the archery range."

Elfwine whooped in delight and jumped off the bed, racing for the door. Gúthwyn watched him go, shook her head in amusement, and reluctantly dislodged the cocoon of blankets.

When she arrived at the breakfast table a few minutes later, it became apparent that she was the last one awake. Legolas, Éomer, Éowyn, and Faramir were there, as were both of her nephews, and they were already halfway through the meal. She sat down beside Elfwine, who was busy sulking—Éomer had warned him that he would be punished the next time he disturbed his aunt's rest without permission.

Since they were present at the table, Gúthwyn assumed that Éowyn and Faramir would be accompanying them to the training grounds; instead, she found out that they were planning on going for a walk. She was thrilled when they asked her to watch Elboron, as she rarely got to spend much time holding her nephew. Elfwine, on the other hand, looked extremely put out at the prospect of his aunt paying attention to someone else.

Once breakfast was over, Éowyn and Faramir departed, leaving Elboron in Gúthwyn's care. When Elfwine realized that Gúthwyn intended on carrying Elboron to the training grounds, he insisted on holding her hand. Although this would mean transferring all of Elboron's weight to her left arm, Gúthwyn was willing to oblige—but Éomer intervened, telling his son not to be ungracious.

"What does _that_ mean?" Elfwine demanded, stomping his foot.

"Would you like me to hold the bag while we are walking?" Legolas asked just then, distracting Gúthwyn from Éomer's response.

She glanced down at the small sack of items Éowyn had given her for Elboron, most of which she was not likely to need—for instance, an extra blanket in case the weather took a turn for the cool—but which it was better to be safe with than sorry without. "If you would not mind," she replied hesitantly. She did not want Legolas to feel as if he were obligated to carry her belongings, but it would certainly be easier if she could hold Elboron in both arms.

"I would not mind at all," Legolas assured her with a smile. Gúthwyn surprised herself by blushing, and not being able to meet his eyes as she handed him the bag.

They walked together to the training grounds, Éomer and Elfwine several paces behind—the former clearly in the process of disciplining his son. Gúthwyn caught bits and pieces of the conversation, mostly in Elfwine's high-pitched voice ("But Papa, Elboron's a stupid baby! Why does he have to come, too?")

"Why does Elfwine hold a grudge against Elboron?" Legolas asked softly.

"I think he is jealous of the attention his cousin receives," Gúthwyn whispered, glancing down at the infant in her arms. Elboron was staring curiously up at her, as if he thought he knew her from somewhere but could not quite remember where. He gurgled occasionally, and seemed placated when she smiled. "My uncle once said that Éomer was the same way when Éowyn was born."

Legolas seemed confused. "Is this common amongst mortal children?"

"It may very well occur amongst Elven children," Gúthwyn pointed out, grinning. "You were just lucky enough to not have to share anyone's attention."

"This is true," Legolas admitted. "I always wished I had a sibling, though. Elladan and Elrohir—Elrond's twin sons," he added, noticing that Gúthwyn was trying to place the names—"possess a bond that I can only imagine."

"Are you close with them?" Gúthwyn asked, curious.

Legolas nodded. "I have not had the chance to visit them as often in the past few decades as I would like, but I used to travel quite frequently to Rivendell."

Gúthwyn recalled her own visit to Rivendell, which had mostly consisted of panic attacks in between fits of vomiting. She had few pleasant memories of the House of Elrond. Luckily, she was distracted from these thoughts by Elboron. Her nephew had started fussing about something, which Gúthwyn soon realized was his blanket. A corner of the fabric had become dislodged, exposing his legs to the wind.

Although it was embarrassing in front of Legolas, she could not resist cooing to Elboron while she adjusted his blanket. He was adorable, after all; she felt some allowances could be made. Elboron, however, was unimpressed. He merely blinked at her, as if wondering why she was talking to him in such an odd voice.

When she glanced back up at Legolas, he was grinning from ear to ear.

"What?" she asked, suddenly self-conscious.

"You," he admitted. "The way you act with your nephews."

"And what way is that?"

"As if you are completely wrapped around their fingers," Legolas said, without a hint of malice.

At first, Gúthwyn was inclined to be offended; then she realized that she could hardly be offended by something that was true. Especially when she looked down at Elboron and found herself wanting to make silly faces just to see his reaction. "I cannot help it," she sighed, kissing Elboron's smooth forehead. "They are both so adorable."

"They are lucky to have you as an aunt."

Gúthwyn was still blushing when they reached the training grounds. Fortunately, Legolas and Éomer switched places so that Legolas could walk alongside Elfwine, who was suddenly bursting with hundreds of questions about the Elven warriors around him. ("Are Elves unbeatable because they never die?" "How long do they have to practice before their papas let them fight?" "But where is your cavalry?") Legolas patiently answered each query, even the ones that made Éomer groan under his breath.

Gúthwyn had not been as eager to see the training grounds as Elfwine—she was inclined to avoid any place where Elves congregated—and for the most part she kept her gaze fixed on Elboron. Nevertheless, she could not help glancing up when they walked by a small group of Elves who were sparring with dulled blades. She was hoping for a glimpse of Faelon, and she was not disappointed.

The Elf was paired with someone Gúthwyn had never seen before, who was losing quite spectacularly despite the fact that he was obviously a competent swordsman. Faelon was simply beyond comparison. Gúthwyn could not imagine anyone, not even Haldor or Borogor, being able to defeat him. In the few seconds that she watched him, he executed a complicated maneuver that resulted in his opponent lying flat on his back with a blade to his throat. It was over in the blink of an eye, and the Elf on the ground seemed just as nonplussed as Gúthwyn.

Faelon stepped back and helped the Elf to his feet, then looked over and saw the visitors.

"Papa, that's Fye-on," Elfwine was saying excitedly. "He and Leggy are friends!"

Legolas obligingly paused for introductions, but they turned out to be unnecessary: Éomer remembered Faelon from Legolas's visits to Rohan, and of course Faelon knew who Éomer was. After a few moments in which Faelon astonished his companions by conversing with Elfwine (they could scarcely believe that a mortal child was so familiar with an Elf as to address him by name, much less be responded to), they parted ways. Faelon remained where he was and Legolas's group continued on, with Gúthwyn looking back over her shoulder just in time to see Faelon disarm yet another opponent.

"He is incredible," she murmured to Éomer.

"What?" her brother asked; he had not seen Faelon's triumph.

"Faelon." Gúthwyn was not quite sure why she was whispering, since Legolas could likely hear her anyway. "He wields a sword better than anyone I have ever seen. You and I together would not be able to overcome him."

Éomer chuckled at the awe in her voice. "Perhaps you should ask him for lessons," he teased her. "I hear that Faramir's Rangers are still waiting to be put in their place." This time, there was an inquisitive undertone to his words.

"I prefer the training grounds at home," Gúthwyn said quietly. She hoped he would not press any further; she was certainly not about to explain her aversion to the Rangers in Legolas's presence.

Alas, her wishes were in vain. "Have Faramir's men been giving you trouble?" Éomer asked immediately, his voice rising just enough to draw Legolas's attention from his conversation with Elfwine.

"No, of course not," Gúthwyn tried to placate her brother. "I am simply not as close to them as I am with your men."

Éomer looked as if he were debating whether or not to believe her. "If any of them behave inappropriately around you—"

"None of them have," Gúthwyn interjected.

"If any of them behave inappropriately around you," Éomer continued, as if he had not heard her, "you must bring them to Faramir's attention immediately. He will not let any harm come to you while you are in his care."

Part of Gúthwyn bristled when her brother said "in his care," as if she were a child who needed to be constantly looked after by an older, more capable man; but as insensitive as Éomer could be sometimes, she knew he meant well. She therefore humored him and promised to report any misconduct. Elboron blinked at both of them and then fell asleep.

When they arrived at the archery range, Elfwine could scarcely contain his excitement. His cries awoke Elboron, who looked vaguely alarmed by his cousin's behavior. Noticing Elboron's distress, Legolas suggested to Elfwine that they move closer to the archers for a better view.

"Yes!" Elfwine jumped up and down, further upsetting Elboron. "Papa, Auntie Gúthwyn, are you coming?"

"Go on ahead," Gúthwyn told him, winking at Legolas. "I will watch you from here." What she actually intended to do was sit down on a nearby bench and calm down her other nephew, who by now had started kicking irritably at her blanket; hopefully then she would be able to devote the rest of her attention to Elfwine.

"Papa?" Elfwine asked anxiously.

"I think I will keep your aunt company. But, son," Éomer hastened to add, for Elfwine's shoulders were slumping—"I want a full report on Prince Legolas's archers."

"Like the reports Elfhelm and Erkenbrand and Gamling give you?" Elfwine demanded eagerly. At a solemn nod from Éomer, his spirits were instantly reanimated. "Leggy, hurry!" he urged, grabbing the prince's hand. "I have to report to Papa!"

Legolas's laughter filled the clearing, and he had just enough time to return Elboron's bag to Gúthwyn before Elfwine dragged him away.

"I must say, I never would have guessed Legolas to be one for entertaining children," Éomer remarked.

"He is wonderful with Elfwine," Gúthwyn said in surprise, settling down onto the bench. "He always has been."

"Elfwine does talk about him quite often," Éomer admitted. "He was ecstatic when we found out that we were going to visit the colony. He says, and I quote, 'Leggy is the best Elf because Auntie Gúthwyn likes him.'"

Gúthwyn chuckled, somewhat nervously. In an effort to avoid her brother's gaze, she adjusted Elboron's blanket and planted a soft kiss on his brow. Elboron squirmed a little, but seemed to calm down; Elfwine's absence had made him more relaxed. "You are just adorable," she murmured, wondering if her voice had registered with him at all.

"He is so small," Éomer remarked. A wistful sigh escaped his lips. "I had almost forgotten that Elfwine used to be the same size."

"I can hardly believe he is six already." Gúthwyn shook her head, wondering where the years had gone. "Soon Elboron will be running around and begging Faramir for sword-fighting lessons."

"Or reading lessons," Éomer suggested with a faint snicker.

Gúthwyn would have elbowed him, had her hands not been full with Elboron. "There is nothing wrong with reading," she admonished him instead.

Éomer grinned. "I never said there was."

"How are Elfwine's lessons coming along?" she inquired, feeling a rush of sympathy for whomever had been saddled with the unenviable task of getting her nephew to sit still long enough to learn something.

"When he manages to pay attention?" Éomer's thoughts were clearly on the same path as hers. "He is surprisingly clever. If he feels like it, he can add and subtract small sums, and point out nearly every realm and large city of Middle-earth on a map. Something I doubt you can do," he added teasingly.

Gúthwyn chose to ignore that comment.

"He questions me endlessly about warfare, then stages mock battles with his cavalry and applies everything I have taught him," Éomer continued. Gúthwyn sorely envied the pride in his voice, the privilege of being able to rattle off the accomplishments of one's offspring. "A month or two ago, he told me that he wanted to travel to other parts of the Riddermark and meet our subjects there. When I asked him why, he said—very seriously—'Papa, how can I lead an army like you did if no one knows what I look like?'"

Gúthwyn's eyes widened. "That is quite an impressive observation for his age."

"I was rather taken aback by his astuteness," Éomer confessed. And then, quietly: "I think he gets it from his mother."

Gúthwyn hesitated before venturing, "Well, she is certainly intelligent."

Éomer's response was a noncommittal grunt, and she knew better than to pursue the matter. Instead, she cooed softly at Elboron and touched his fingers, marveling at how tiny they were.

_I wish Cobryn would agree to marry sooner,_ she thought wistfully. With Elboron in her arms, it was hard to consider the means required to achieve the ends. All she wanted was an infant like him, a child to call her own—not one whom she had to return to his parents at the end of an outing. Even if it meant submitting to another man, even if it meant trembling and sobbing beneath Cobryn every night for a year…

She swallowed, trying to push the images away, but Elboron's grey eyes held her in place. Did it really matter what she had to endure, if the result was so precious? She had survived Haldor; surely she could survive the discomfort of making love to Cobryn. It would only last until she conceived, and then she would be free of any obligation to fulfill her wifely duties. What other man would permit such an arrangement?

"You look deep in thought."

"Oh—hardly," Gúthwyn hastened to reply, lest Éomer attempt to probe said thoughts. "Rather, I was envying Éowyn and Faramir for their good fortune."

A second later, she wished she had been able to come up with a better response. Éomer's eyes were narrowed slightly, his head tipped in contemplation. "Sister—"

"If this is about what I think it is about, I would rather not," Gúthwyn said, her voice barely above a whisper. "You promised—"

"I promised I would not force you into a marriage," Éomer reminded her. "I said nothing about inquiring into your plans for the future."

Gúthwyn drew in a sharp breath. Plans for the future? Did he mean… But he could not possibly have found out about her and Cobryn. Her friend would not utter a word about their agreement—if anything, she was the one most likely to slip and give everything away. And, at least until now, she had managed to keep their betrothal (or their pre-betrothal engagement) a secret.

Yet all Éomer asked was, "Have you ever reconsidered?"

If her brother knew… if he had any idea…

_The one thing you have ever been able to fault him for is that he is oblivious to your feelings; yet that can easily be remedied, if you will it._

As the advice Legolas had once given her resurfaced in her memory, she astonished herself by saying, "Maybe. I mean—yes. Yes, I have." The final syllables curled defiantly from her lips, as if she were daring him to start pressuring her to find a husband.

"And what did you decide?"

"What—what did I decide?"

"As a result of your reconsideration," Éomer clarified.

Caught between a rock and a hard place, Gúthwyn vacillated. She could hardly inform Éomer that she had gone behind his back to make arrangements with Cobryn. Yet if she lied and told him that she still had no interest in marrying, he might start lecturing her about learning to let go of the past. He would be disappointed in her, she knew.

So she took a deep breath and told him the partial truth: "I want children."

Éomer's eyes widened. "You—You have decided that? Beyond a doubt?"

She looked down at Elboron and nodded.

There was a moment of silence; then, Éomer reached out and squeezed her shoulder. "What made you change your mind?"

"Time, I think." Gúthwyn lifted her gaze to where Elfwine was chatting animatedly with Legolas, his round face flushed with happiness. If only her life were as uncomplicated as his. "But watching Éowyn these past few months, and realizing how much I envy her… I still would prefer not to have a husband, yet I would rather… I would rather tolerate one than not have any children at all."

"That cannot have been an easy choice," Éomer said softly. "I am proud of you, baby sister."

Gúthwyn shook her head, wondering if he would have still been proud of her if she had come to the opposite conclusion.

"Have you anyone in mind?"

"Éomer…"

"If there is a man whom you desire to wed, I will have to know his name sooner or later," Éomer pointed out. In a gentler tone, he added, "It is not my intent to pressure you. I wish only that you would confide in me."

_Well, in that case, _Gúthwyn thought wearily, _Cobryn and I have already planned our betrothal, I assume your consent will be a mere formality…_ She knew instinctively that her brother would not approve of the reasons behind their engagement. A marriage of convenience, he would admonish her, was no substitute for one of love. Never mind the fact that he had had no qualms about wedding her off to Elphir when it was for the sake of the realm… She stopped herself from finishing the thought. She was not, after all, being entirely fair: he had eventually promised to leave her to her own devices, when he could have insisted upon her obedience.

"Sister?"

In order to avoid Éomer's inquiring gaze, she fixed her sights on Legolas and Elfwine. The two of them were standing behind Trelan and watching him practice, with Elfwine clapping every time Trelan made a particularly superb shot. There was a small smile on Legolas's face, one that made his features even handsomer than usual.

On second thought, perhaps observing Legolas had not been a good idea—for now her cheeks were positively burning. "There is no one," she said hastily, hoping Éomer had not noticed. "Not yet."

To her dismay, Éomer's eyes followed her own, focusing in on Legolas as the Elf pointed something out to his attentive audience. Hoping to keep her brother from jumping to the wrong conclusion, Gúthwyn quickly glanced down at Elboron. Her nephew had fallen back asleep, his rest undisturbed by the conversation; as she watched, he opened his mouth in a tiny, adorable yawn.

"I could speak to Elfhelm—"

"No." Gúthwyn adamantly shook her head. "It would be dishonorable to turn down his proposal, only to come crawling back now that my circumstances have changed." _I should have held my tongue,_ she thought. Now Éomer would be attempting to set her up with every eligible bachelor whom he deemed suitable enough for her, all while she had to pretend that she had not yet already decided upon her best friend.

"That does not leave a wide pool of men in Rohan," Éomer reminded her.

"There are other pools," Gúthwyn pointed out, wondering if Cobryn was being included amongst the men of Rohan—or if he had even crossed her brother's mind.

"If you marry someone who is not of Rohan"—Éomer's voice was tinged with worry—"you will have no choice but to reside in another realm."

_Not necessarily,_ she thought, barely concealing a smile. "Éomer," she finally said, for he was clearly preparing for a lengthy discussion, "I am not about to take a husband just yet. I still need time to think."

Éomer hesitated. "If you ever need anything…"

"I will know where to go," Gúthwyn assured him. In an effort to guide the conversation in a more tolerable direction, she smiled and asked, "Would you like to hold Elboron?"

She was gratified to discover that, much like herself, Éomer could not resist the temptation to address his nephew in a higher-pitched voice than usual.


	84. A Lesson in Vocabulary

**Chapter Eighty-Four**

"Auntie Gúthwyn, can you see the Elf _now_?"

"Not yet, little one," Gúthwyn replied, squinting up into the trees. She was only making a half-hearted effort to find the Elf her nephew claimed to have seen, but she pretended to be concentrating with all her might. "You must have very good eyesight."

"Right _there_!" Elfwine jabbed his finger up towards some indiscernible point in the foliage. "He is reading a book!"

"Then perhaps we should be quieter," Gúthwyn suggested, "so that we do not disturb him." She gently steered him further down the path, hoping to reach Legolas's gardens without another Elf sighting.

Clearly, "quieter" was a foreign concept to Elfwine. "Cobryn says you never read. Is that true?" he asked, his voice rising in curiosity.

"Did he tell you that?"

"No, he told Papa."

Gúthwyn raised an eyebrow. "And what did Papa say?"

"He said Cobryn reads enough for both of you."

"Well, your father is certainly right about that," Gúthwyn replied with a grin.

"Is Cobryn or Leggy your favorite friend?"

The question made Gúthwyn's heart beat frantically for a moment before she realized that Elfwine—like all young children—was simply attempting to figure out the relationships of the people in his life. "I have known Cobryn longer than I have known Legolas," she said diplomatically.

"Does that mean he is your favorite friend? What about Leggy?"

"They are both my friends," Gúthwyn assured him.

"But who is your _favorite_?"

Cobryn's name hovered on the tip of her tongue, but she quickly decided that it was best to remain mum. Elfwine was likely to be disappointed if Legolas was not the answer. "Do you have a favorite friend?" she queried.

Her nephew nodded eagerly. "Onyveth is my favorite. She is better than everyone at tag, _and_ her papa says that he is going to teach her how to use a sword! But isn't it going to be hard for him to teach her with only one arm?"

"It might be hard for you or I, little one, but not Lebryn. He has had many years of practice."

Elfwine was quiet for a moment, and Gúthwyn thought he was pondering the mechanics of a one-handed sword fight until he suddenly announced, "Auntie Gúthwyn, I have a question."

Éomund's daughter smiled; others might be irritated by the oft-repeated phrase, but she loved how adorable her nephew sounded when he was curious about something. "Yes, little one?" she replied indulgently.

"Do you promise not to be mad at me?" Elfwine asked, surprising her. He was staring at her anxiously, rocking back and forth on his heels.

Gúthwyn knit her brow in confusion. "Whatever would I have to be angry with you about?"

"Because Papa didn't like my question," Elfwine confessed worriedly. "He didn't answer it."

Gúthwyn's heart twisted in pity, for she thought she knew what the question must have been about. Elfwine had not understood the sudden change in Éomer and Lothíriel's relationship and would certainly have been inquisitive about it—but at least it appeared that her brother had restrained himself from saying anything cruel about his wife. "Perhaps you could tell me the question," she said carefully to Elfwine, "and I will see if I can answer it."

"Do you _promise_ you won't be mad?" Elfwine pleaded.

Gúthwyn took his small hand and squeezed it. "I promise."

"Then…" His next words tumbled out in a rush, as if he were afraid that she would reconsider before he could speak. "What does rape mean?"

Gúthwyn froze. Had he just—no, surely—had he just asked her—no, she must have heard him wrong. "What does what mean?" she queried in an attempt at a calm voice, though inside her heart was battering against her ribcage. It had to have been a mistake.

"What does rape mean?" Elfwine repeated.

It had not been a mistake. Elfwine, her six-year-old nephew—a baby, really; just a small, innocent child—was asking her about rape, which had filled her nights with terror and which, even now, was making her skin crawl. Rape, which had stolen something from her that she could never get back. Rape. A part of her that she would never be free from.

"Auntie Gúthwyn, are you mad?" Elfwine asked, trembling. When she did not answer, still reeling in shock and pain, he placed his small palms on her forearm and started shaking her. "Auntie Gúthwyn? Where did you go? Did I do something wrong? Auntie Gúthwyn?"

Gúthwyn resurfaced to the sound of his cries, but for a moment it was all she could do not to be sick. Who had been talking about rape to her nephew? Why was he asking her? Someone had tainted Elfwine's mind in her absence, had filled it with poisonous words he could not possibly understand—could not be allowed to understand.

"Elfwine, where did you hear that word?" she asked unsteadily, clutching at her stomach.

Her nephew's hands dug in deeper, refusing to let go of her. "Are you mad at me?"

"_You are a whore," he hissed, curling his fingers into her arm. "A pathetic little whore who deserves each and every indignity heaped upon you."_

"Auntie Gúthwyn?"

"_You are mine, you slut. You will never be rid of me!"_

Sometimes, she wondered where Haldor's voice stopped and her own began.

"Auntie Gúthwyn!"

"Elfwine, where did you hear that word?" She was unable to speak above a whisper, and she prayed that her nephew had understood the question; she did not think she could bring herself to repeat it a third time.

Elfwine's lips were trembling. "Are you mad at me?"

"Of course I am not mad at you, but I need you to tell me where you heard that word." Too late, she realized that she had not been reassuring in the slightest—but she was too bent on untangling the threads of her nephew's conscious to determine the best way to console him.

"Papa said it," Elfwine whispered, tears leaking from his eyes.

"He—what? He said that word to you?"

Elfwine shook his head. "You said you wouldn't be mad, but you are," he replied wretchedly.

"Elfwine, I promise I am not angry with you," Gúthwyn swore, kneeling down and placing her hands on his shoulders. "But it is very important that you tell me why your father said that word to you."

"Not to me. To Mama."

Gúthwyn's chest constricted, cutting off her breath. "What do you mean, he said it to your mother?"

"He said it to Mama," Elfwine reiterated, looking bewildered and frightened.

"And what else did he say?" Gúthwyn pressed. Surely Éomer would not have told Lothíriel about what happened to her in Mordor? She thought of Lothíriel unlocking the darkest, most humiliating secrets of her life and felt ill with terror. At best, the queen would know everything; at worst, she would use it as blackmail.

"Papa talked about you, but I don't remember what he said." Elfwine shook her arm again. "Auntie Gúthwyn, why are you mad? What does rape mean?"

"Stop saying that word!"

She instantly regretted her harshness. Elfwine's face crumbled, a prelude to the tears that came soon after—and the loud wails that echoed throughout the garden, shattering the morning calm. Gúthwyn's concerns about Éomer and Lothíriel vanished in an instant, replaced by the heart-wrenching realization that she was treating her nephew cruelly. She swept him into a hug, holding him close as shudders wracked his small body. "I am so sorry, little one," she murmured. "I did not mean to be cross with you. You are just asking me some difficult questions, that is all."

She rubbed his back until his sobs subsided, until he had stopped shaking in her arms. "Why is it a difficult question?" he asked in between hiccups.

Gúthwyn tensed, but forced her voice to remain calm and even. "Because it is a very grown-up matter, little one. And you are still a child."

"Is rape something that grown-ups do?" Elfwine's eyes widened.

"Not all grown-ups," Gúthwyn was quick to correct him. "Only a few evil ones."

"But what is it?" Elfwine demanded. "What is rape? Why won't Papa tell me?"

"Because you are too young to be thinking about it."

"But I am six!"

In spite of herself, Gúthwyn smiled at Elfwine's indignation. "That is still very young, little one, though it may not seem that way to you."

"Does that mean you won't tell me what it is?" Elfwine queried, wrinkling his nose.

Gúthwyn nodded. "And you cannot ask anyone else what it means," she warned him. "Do you understand?"

Elfwine sighed, but reluctantly agreed. "Are Hammel and Haiweth old enough to know what it means?"

In many ways, Elfwine's focus and determination were admirable character traits. Now, however, Gúthwyn found herself preferring the short attention spans of other children his age. "Haiweth is not old enough," she said reluctantly, hoping that Éowyn had not overstepped her bounds in this regard. She was still irritated that her sister had gone behind her back and explained to Haiweth how children were produced.

Elfwine was gaping at her in alarm. "But Haiweth is—how old is Haiweth?"

"Fifteen."

"But that is so old!" Elfwine cried.

"Not to me," Gúthwyn replied. "Nor your father." Hoping to steer him back to the revelations that had so alarmed her, she ventured, "You said your father told something about me to your mother. Do you remember what he said?"

Elfwine shook his head. "It was something about… about that bad word."

"And he said this in front of you?"

"We were in the stables and he was mad at Mama," Elfwine informed her, biting his lip. In a quieter voice, he added, "Papa is always mad at Mama."

Gúthwyn looked at her nephew for a long moment, then sighed and took his hand. "Come, little one. Let us go back inside. I need to have a word with your father."

* * *

><p>They found Faramir on Legolas's front porch, a book in one hand and Elboron in the other. The Steward was reading aloud to his son, whose gaze was fixated on the strange symbols before him; every few seconds, a milky smile would tug at the baby's lips. As Gúthwyn and Elfwine came up the stairs, Faramir lowered his book (Elboron's features immediately twisted in a grimace) and nodded at them in greeting.<p>

"Have you seen Éomer?" Gúthwyn inquired, somewhat stiffly, as they drew closer.

"He and Éowyn went for a ride," Faramir said. "Is everything all right?"

"Do you know when they will return?"

Raising an eyebrow, Faramir replied, "They left about an hour ago, so they should be back soon."

"Would you mind watching Elfwine until then?"

"No, of course not," Faramir responded, though not without visible reservations. Elfwine had never taken to him as well as he had to Éowyn and Gúthwyn. "What is going on?"

"Auntie Gúthwyn," Elfwine complained, tugging at her dress, "I want to stay with _you_."

"I am sorry, little one, but I have to speak with your father alone. And while I do, you must be on your best behavior for your uncle."

"But—"

"No buts, Elfwine. Maybe you can take turns reading to your cousin." The suggestion was as much for Faramir's benefit as it was for Elfwine's; the age difference between her nephews meant that finding something to keep them both occupied would be a challenge.

"But you were supposed to play with _me_," Elfwine pouted.

"And I will, once I have talked to your father. But until then, you must be a good boy and do what your uncle tells you."

Elfwine was grumbling as he sat down next to Faramir. Gúthwyn hoped he would comport himself with some semblance of decorum, but there was no time for misgivings. She turned around and headed for Legolas's stables, determined to corner her brother and demand an explanation. What had Éomer been thinking, discussing rape in front of Elfwine? Had he been talking about _her_ rapes, as Elfwine had hinted? But why? Why would he share those stories with Lothíriel?

_He may not have,_ she tried to assuage herself, pushing open the stable doors with sweating palms. The familiar smells calmed her somewhat, allowing her to be reasonable. _Elfwine could have misheard, or misunderstood. He is but a child, after all._

Yet her nephew was also strikingly perceptive, and Gúthwyn knew that she had not done herself any favors by displaying such a strong reaction to his queries. If anything, she had now carved the word into Elfwine's mind, an eternal puzzle for him to mull over. She should have kept herself under control, maintained a stoic façade while serenely informing Elfwine that he was too young to be contemplating such topics.

Instead, she had allowed the memories in. She had let fear flood in past her defenses, overwhelming everything in its path. A decade after Haldor's death, and he still had this hold on her…

_Not as much as he used to,_ she reminded herself. _Nowhere near as much, in fact._ Case in point: her friendship with Legolas. Here she was in his colony, not on her first visit but on her third, with no sign of the flashbacks that used to plague her in his presence. Today was a brief setback, nothing more.

The thunderous sound of hooves brought her back to her senses. She stepped aside just as Éowyn and Éomer rode into the stables, laughing at some joke they had shared.

"Baby sister!" Éowyn exclaimed, guiding her horse into its stall. "What are you doing here?"

"I thought you and Elfwine had gone out for the morning," Éomer said with a frown.

"I left him in Faramir's care," Gúthwyn assured him. She waited until Éomer had brought his steed to a halt, then said, "I need to speak with you, brother."

Éomer dismounted, his boots landing on the packed dirt with a thump. "Is something wrong?"

"I need to speak with you alone," Gúthwyn elaborated.

Éowyn and Éomer exchanged glances. "Give me a minute," Éomer eventually said, looking disconcerted.

Éowyn finished unsaddling her horse first, and passed Gúthwyn on her way to the rack. "Are you all right, baby sister?" she asked quietly.

Gúthwyn merely nodded, gritting her teeth together until her jaw hurt. Éowyn departed from the stables not long after, glancing over her shoulder as she went; Éomer and Gúthwyn were finally alone, the horses around them looking on in silence.

"What is all this mystery?" Éomer asked, trying to lighten the mood, but Gúthwyn's frown deepened.

"I would like to know," she began, trembling, "why Elfwine asked me what rape meant this morning."

Éomer's body went still, his shoulders taut. "He asked you that?"

"It was a word he learned from you," Gúthwyn retorted, balling her hands into fists.

"He overheard… a conversation months ago," Éomer said in bewilderment. He closed the stall and stepped out, his eyes never leaving Gúthwyn's. "I thought he had forgotten."

Gúthwyn's voice became shrill, startling some of the horses. "Clearly he did not! Why were you telling Lothíriel about Haldor?"

"I—what?"

"Elfwine said that you were talking about me when you used that word," Gúthwyn snapped. "Why would you tell her about that? As if she would not use it for—for extortion, or—"

"I never said a word about Haldor," Éomer swore. "Not to Lothíriel." He spat out the mention of his wife, her name curling into the air like a poisonous fume. "What Elfwine heard—that was about Amrothos. Lothíriel was begging for forgiveness and I reminded her why she would never receive it."

Gúthwyn's muscles had relaxed slightly, only to tense up again in the wake of Éomer's explanation. "And you were having this conversation in front of Elfwine?"

Éomer had the good grace to flush. "We were arguing and… I got carried away," he admitted. "I thought I was being quieter—"

"How often have you been arguing in front of Elfwine?" Gúthwyn demanded, already dreading the answer.

Her brother's hesitation told her all that she needed to know. "Not often."

"Éomer—" Gúthwyn broke off. On the one hand, she was relieved that her brother had not revealed the truth of her time in Mordor. On the other, she was horrified that Éomer had been discussing Amrothos's attack in front of Elfwine. Thankfully, Elfwine did not seem to associate his uncle with the word _rape_—he must have forgotten that Amrothos had been mentioned at all—yet what if his memory, or his comprehension, had been a little clearer?

"I am sorry that you had to deal with Elfwine asking you that question," Éomer said quietly. "Are you all right?"

Gúthwyn drew in a deep, shuddering breath. "I lost my temper with him," she whispered. "I yelled at him not to say that word…" She felt her cheeks burning with shame. How could she question Éomer's judgment in matters regarding his son, when she herself was no better? Elfwine was plainly struggling to adjust to the changes in his life, and she had only made things more difficult for him.

"You were put on the spot," Éomer said, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. She leaned against him, drawing comfort from his sturdy frame. "You were not expecting such a question. I should have warned you when he asked me, but I honestly believed he would not remember."

Gúthwyn swallowed, the walls of her throat burning. "And now I doubt he will ever forget."

"Well, there shall be plenty of distractions for him in the days to come," Éomer said optimistically. "I have asked Legolas to give him a few archery lessons, since he has demonstrated such an interest in it; they will start in a day or two. And when we return to Rohan, he will commence his military training. I expect that will keep his mind off of everything but his studies." When Gúthwyn did not respond, he added, "You could still come back with us, you know."

Gúthwyn quickly shook her head, though she was starting to doubt her convictions. If Éomer had yet to reconcile with Lothíriel nearly a year later, she could hardly say that her absence had improved the queen's standing in her family; in fact, the only thing she had accomplished was making her nephew miserable.

_But if you return to Rohan, nothing will have changed,_ she reminded herself. _You and Elfwine will still be together at the exclusion of Lothíriel._

"I should go rescue Faramir," she said, wiping her eyes. "He has been watching both Elfwine and Elboron this whole time…"

Fortunately, Éomer chose not to press the subject.


	85. Playtime

**A/N:** Hey, everyone! Hope you all enjoyed the holidays, and of course the newest Hobbit movie! (No spoilers, but I absolutely loved everything with Legolas, Thranduil, and Tauriel.)

Before we begin, I just wanted to address a mistake I made that was only very recently brought to my attention. Remember Éowyn and Faramir's wedding back in The Horse and the Swan? Yeah? Hopefully? Well, turns out I completely misread that scene from _The Return of the King_, and they didn't actually marry—they were just _trothplighted_, which is another word for "betrothed." Furthermore, according to _The Peoples of Middle-earth_ (the last in the Histories of Middle-earth series, which I really need to finish!), they were not married until 3020, about a year later.

For obvious reasons, I'm not going to go back and correct this. However, I think this may have resolved a plot issue I was wrangling with for the alternate ending, so I'm happy to learn I was wrong!

And now back to your irregularly scheduled reading.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Eighty-Five<strong>

Elfwine was noticeably subdued the next morning, his usual exuberance replaced by a sullen, churlish disposition. He refused to eat his toast, in spite of mounting impatience from his father, and earned himself a time-out when he stuck his tongue out at Elboron and called him a "stupid, stupid baby." It was not his finest hour.

Gúthwyn suspected that he was still upset over her outburst from the day before, and that she was thus partly to blame for his behavior. "I should not have snapped at him," she said morosely to Éomer when he returned from locking Elfwine in his chambers.

Éomer placed his sword and a couple of daggers on the table—items which he had obviously thought it best to remove from Elfwine's reach—and told her, "Be as it may, he must learn to rein in his temper if he is to be a respected king. He must also learn not to direct his anger at defenseless innocents."

Gúthwyn continued to feel guilty, however, and so when Elfwine's time-out was over she volunteered to be the one to retrieve him. She opened the door to Éomer's room to discover her nephew sitting on the floor, his legs curled up to his chest and his arms folded resolutely across his knees. From the looks of it, he had not moved once since Éomer had left him there.

"Little one?" she probed, knocking softly on the door frame. "You can come out now."

Elfwine glared at her, his eyes red and puffy. "I don't want to."

"You want to stay in here all day?"

He gave an irritable shrug.

"Then may I sit with you for a while?"

Another shrug. Gúthwyn decided to take that as a yes, so she stepped into the room and joined him on the floor. "Are you upset because of what happened yesterday?" she inquired gently.

"You lied to me." Elfwine's eyes flashed accusingly.

"Little one—"

"You said you wouldn't be mad at me, but you were. Just like you said you wouldn't leave me, but you did. Even though you _promised_!" Elfwine was shouting by the time he finished, his features a tempestuous storm of red and purple. Gúthwyn tried to put her arm around his shoulders, but he twisted angrily out of her grasp.

"Elfwine, I am very sorry that I broke my promises to you," Éomund's daughter murmured. "I can assure you that it was never my intention to, and I deeply regret it."

"Then why did you do it?"

Elfwine's plaintive question made Gúthwyn sigh. To him, the world was still black and white. Everything had a simple answer; everything followed a set of rules that his limited understanding of the world had created. If his aunt made a promise, she was supposed to keep it. Grown-ups were to be taken at face value, their words equivalent to law.

"Sometimes people make promises that they intend to keep, only to find out later that they cannot, no matter how much they want to. And I very much wanted to keep my promises to you, little one." Gúthwyn slowly inhaled, using the time to gather her thoughts. "When you asked me yesterday about… about that bad word, I was not angry at you, even though it appeared that way. I was angry because your father had said that word in front of you. And I was angry because… I had to think about that word, and I did not want to."

"Why not?"

"Because it is a very bad thing. And I am sorry, little one," she added, seeing that another _why_ was hovering on the tip of Elfwine's tongue, "but that is all I can tell you right now. When you are older, you will understand."

Elfwine bit his lip, disappointed. "Does that mean that you were mad at Papa instead of me?" he eventually asked. Gúthwyn nodded. "Are you still mad at Papa?"

"I can never stay mad at your father for very long," she said with a smile, ruffling his hair.

"What if he did something _really_ bad?" Elfwine inquired, his eyes widening.

"Like what?"

"Like… Like…" Elfwine looked around the room for ideas. "Like if he didn't give you a present for your birthday!"

It was close, but Gúthwyn managed not to laugh. "I think I would forgive him," she said, grinning. "Adults do not receive as many presents as children."

"They _don't_?" Elfwine stared at her in horror.

"Unfortunately not," Gúthwyn replied gravely. "It is one of the burdens of growing up."

Elfwine took a moment to consider this, and evidently decided that growing up was not to his liking. "Can we go play now?"

Glad that the storm had blown over, Gúthwyn asked, "What do you want to do?"

"I want to fight!" Elfwine scrambled to his feet and retrieved his toy sword from a small chest. "I will be Papa, and _you_ will be an Orc."

"An Orc?" Gúthwyn wrinkled her nose. "Maybe we can find Legolas, and he can be an Orc."

Elfwine's eyes lit up. "You can _both_ be Orcs! And I have to fight both of you _at the same time_!" Enthralled by the possibilities of this new development, the young prince of Rohan began to race around the room. "Take that!" he yelled at an invisible opponent, jabbing his sword at the air.

Wondering what she had just signed herself and Legolas up for, Gúthwyn rose to her feet and gently shepherded Elfwine out of the room. After a quick conference with Éomer, the two of them were outside, heading towards the training grounds on the assumption that Legolas was likely to be found there.

"Auntie Gúthwyn, you have to remember to be really, _really_ mean," Elfwine was saying as they entered the clearing where the archery range was located. "Just like an Orc. Even though I know you're not _really_ mean, you have to pretend."

Gúthwyn bared her teeth and hissed, but Elfwine merely laughed at her. "Meaner!" he insisted.

Gúthwyn elected not to make a second attempt, since the two of them were already drawing attention from the Elves on the training grounds. Doing her best to ignore them, she asked her nephew, "Can you see Legolas from here?"

Elfwine obligingly craned his neck and started searching. Gúthwyn gazed around as well, trying not to look at any one Elf for too long. They were in luck: within a few seconds, she felt Elfwine's hand squeeze around her own. "There he is!"

Gúthwyn barely had time to discern Legolas's figure amidst a small group of Elves before Elfwine was dragging her over towards them. "Leggy!" he cried, much to her chagrin.

"Elfwine, you have to wait until he is done talking to his friends," Gúthwyn admonished her nephew, her cheeks flaming when she recognized Raniean amidst Legolas's companions. The Elf was staring at her in distaste, an expression mirrored on some of the others' faces. Neither Trelan nor Faelon were to be found, she noted with alarm; they, at least, were friendly.

Ignoring her, Elfwine raised his voice and shouted, "Leggy! Can you play with me and Auntie Gúthwyn? We want you to be an Orc!"

"An Orc?" Legolas repeated, grinning. He broke apart from the others and took a few steps forward, smiling at Gúthwyn. Éomund's daughter smiled uneasily back, conscious of Raniean's darkening features.

"Yes! You and Auntie Gúthwyn are going to be Orcs, and I am going to fight you!" Elfwine announced.

"Little one, Legolas might be busy right now," Gúthwyn murmured, embarrassed. Raising her voice, she said, "I am sorry for disturbing you—"

"Not at all." Legolas shouldered his bow and, after a few parting words to his friends, came over to join them. "Now, what is this about me being an Orc?"

"I wanted Auntie Gúthwyn to be an Orc so that I could fight her, and then she said _you_ could be an Orc, and then I decided to fight _both_ of you," Elfwine explained, brandishing his wooden sword. "But you have to get your sword first, it's not fair if you use your bow and shoot me."

The air filled with Legolas's laughter. "Indeed, it would not be fair," he agreed. "Fortunately, I know just where to find better weapons." He motioned for the two of them to follow.

"You have to get one for Auntie Gúthwyn, too," Elfwine reminded him as they began walking (Gúthwyn desperately hoping that she was imagining the other Elves' scrutiny). "But not a big one, because she's the smallest grown-up _ever_. She's even smaller than Haiweth!"

"She is very short," Legolas replied, winking at Éomund's daughter. "Yet I think we can accommodate her."

Elfwine beamed; Gúthwyn remained torn between amusement and anxiety. Was she simply being paranoid, or had some of the Elves stopped their training in order to watch the three of them? She managed to resist the temptation to look over her shoulder at Raniean and his friends, but she could feel the heat of their gazes on her back—or was it all in her mind?

They came to a large rack at the edge of the training grounds, where numerous practice swords had been stored—most of them dulled, the rest wooden. About half of the slots were empty, their occupants currently in use. Legolas selected one of the wooden blades for himself, then handed a few to Gúthwyn for inspection. "I hope one of these is to your liking," he said, smiling.

"This one has a horse on it!" Elfwine pointed excitedly at one of the swords Gúthwyn was holding, his finger landing on a miniature carving that decorated the pommel.

Éomund's daughter obligingly returned the other blades to the rack. "Could we possibly find a more… secluded space?" she quietly asked Legolas. "I just… I would not want to be in anyone's way…"

This was only part of the reason why she desired to leave the training grounds, as Legolas was surely aware; she felt embarrassed that she had even bothered to pretend, when it was obvious that she was uncomfortable around his friends. Legolas, however, scarcely blinked. "Of course. I know where we can go."

"But, Leggy," Elfwine said in surprise, "I want to stay here."

Legolas raised an eyebrow. "You do not wish to see the secret spot?"

"The _secret_ spot? What is the secret spot?"

"Well," Legolas said, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial tone, "I cannot discuss it here, otherwise it would not be a secret." He glanced meaningfully towards the Elves around them, and Gúthwyn barely managed to repress a giggle as Elfwine nodded in solemn understanding. "However, I can show it to you, if you promise not to tell a soul about it."

"I promise!" Having quite forgotten about the allure of the training grounds, Elfwine was now rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet, impatiently waiting for Legolas to take them to the "secret" spot. Gúthwyn shared a tiny, discreet grin with Legolas, inwardly marveling at how adept he was with her nephew. He was never exasperated by his antics, and she had never detected signs of boredom when they were together. She wondered if Legolas wanted children himself, if his kindness to Elfwine was an indicator of the father he would become.

She reminded herself that it was none of her business whether or not Legolas was planning on having children; there was certainly no reason for her to be contemplating such matters. Blushing—and quite glad that Legolas could not read her mind—Gúthwyn followed him and Elfwine onto a path which led them out of the training grounds, heading not towards the main dwelling but to the gardens surrounding it.

"How far away is it?" Elfwine chirped after a few seconds.

"Not very far."

"Just a little far? Or more far?"

"Farther," Gúthwyn gently corrected her nephew.

"Farther?"

"Less than five minutes away," Legolas promised.

Somewhat placated by this, Elfwine turned to Gúthwyn. "Remember," he warned her, "you have to be really mean. Like a big, ugly Orc."

"Do I have to be ugly, too?" Gúthwyn asked, grinning.

"Like this!" Elfwine gnashed his teeth together and curled his fingers in a claw shape, demonstrating the appropriate amount of ugliness.

Although Gúthwyn laughed and tried to mimic him, Legolas came to a sudden halt. "I think your sister is approaching," he said when Éomund's daughter gave him a quizzical look.

Elfwine squinted at their surroundings. "I don't see Auntie Éowyn."

"Legolas has much better hearing than either of us, little one," Gúthwyn pointed out. "Wait a minute, and you will see her."

Éowyn came into view not long after that, her breathing unusually heavy. She was carrying Elboron in her arms, and appeared to have walked a great distance in a short amount of time. "Gúthwyn, there you are," she said in relief. "I have been looking for you."

"I have been with Elfwine and Legolas," Gúthwyn explained, waving at Elboron. The baby stared at her for a few seconds, then became distracted by a falling leaf.

"Leggy is going to show us a secret spot!" Elfwine exclaimed. "Do you want to see it?"

"Perhaps another time." Éowyn smoothed her hair back from her face and asked, "Sister, would you be able to watch Elboron for an hour? Faramir and I were hoping to go for a short ride."

"No, she can't," Elfwine snapped, before Gúthwyn had even opened her mouth. "She is playing with me today. She is supposed to be an Orc, and she can't be an Orc with a baby."

"Elfwine!" Gúthwyn's eyes widened. "There is no need to be rude."

Elfwine scowled, his glare directed at Elboron. "You said you'd play with _me_ today."

Legolas was pretending to be absorbed by a detailed examination of his bow, but Gúthwyn still felt the back of her neck heating with embarrassment. "I can play with both of you," she said firmly, before telling Éowyn, "Of course I can watch him."

"A thousand thanks." Éowyn handed the baby over, adding, "He was just fed and changed, so you should be fine. And, Elfwine"—she turned to her nephew, her expression suddenly stern—"Elboron is your cousin now, whether you like it or not. You will have to grow accustomed to his presence in your life, as well as in Gúthwyn's."

Uncharacteristically of him, Elfwine did not speak; but his features were steadily darkening, and he stared up at Éowyn as if she had just betrayed him in an unspeakable fashion.

"It would be nice of you to apologize," Gúthwyn murmured, gently squeezing his shoulder.

"Sorry," Elfwine mumbled. He did not look sorry in the slightest.

Éowyn arched a brow. "You can apologize later, when you mean it," she decided. "Baby sister, let me know if there is any trouble. Éomer and I may need to have a talk about this."

Gúthwyn nodded, torn between pity for her nephew and disappointment in his behavior. She snuck a glance at Legolas, who had wandered a few feet away to examine the intricacies of the bark on a nearby tree, both assuaged and worried by the lack of emotion on his face.

Once Éowyn had left, the three of them—now four, with Elboron—continued on their walk. "Perhaps Legolas can be the Orc, and I can pretend to be a civilian with a child," Gúthwyn suggested to Elfwine, trying to animate him. "And you will have to save us, just like your father has to defend his subjects."

"I guess," Elfwine muttered.

"Here we are," Legolas said after a moment. Gúthwyn thought she detected a trace of relief in his voice, but she could have been imagining it. "The secret spot."

They had turned onto a small, easily overlooked path and emerged an instant later into a secluded enclosure. Well-kept and spacious, its centerpiece was a large fountain crafted in the shape of a tree. Gúthwyn took a closer look and thought she recognized it as a _mallorn_, a dauntingly enormous tree that she had only ever seen in Lothlórien. Water streamed out of each branch, collecting at the basin of the fountain; the resulting sound was pleasant, soothing.

"A seldom-used garden," Legolas whispered in her ear. Gúthwyn jumped, for she had not noticed him coming so close to her; but before she could even draw breath, he was walking ahead of her and pointing out the greensward to Elfwine. "A worthy place to do battle upon," he told her nephew, smiling. "And there are many bushes to hide behind, if you want to confuse the Orcs."

"Auntie Gúthwyn isn't an Orc anymore," Elfwine replied with a frown.

"Confuse the evil, singular Orc," Legolas corrected himself. "Or perhaps you will have the civilians hide themselves out of harm's way, so that you can fight the Orc without worrying about them getting hurt."

"I think that is better than hiding myself," Elfwine decided, looking up at Legolas for approval. "Because if I don't fight, then the Orc will try to kill the other people."

"I think you are right about that," Legolas agreed somberly. "Unless it is an especially strong Orc, it will go for the weakest target."

"That's not very brave."

"Nay, and neither is an Orc. Especially in the sunlight, like we are now."

Gúthwyn drifted in and out of the discussion while adjusting Elboron's blanket, making sure that the baby was comfortable in her arms. His eyes met hers and she beamed, impulsively leaning forward to kiss his brow. He squirmed a little, and for a moment she was afraid that she had alarmed him; but he calmed down almost immediately, even bestowing a faint approximation of a smile upon her.

"Auntie Gúthwyn, are you listening?"

Startled, Gúthwyn tore her gaze away from Elboron's bright grey eyes. "Yes, little one?" she asked, turning to her other nephew—who looked extremely irritated that he was not the focus of her undivided attention.

"I _said_, Leggy is going to attack you now. And you have to run away behind the bush."

Gúthwyn assured him that she would play her part. "Remember, we have to be careful with your cousin."

Elfwine pretended not to hear her. "Leggy, attack!" he ordered, running towards the trees. He hid behind the closest one, presumably so he could charge dramatically out from behind it and rescue Éomund's daughter.

"Shall we?" Legolas asked, raising his wooden sword.

Gúthwyn was starting to have misgivings over the wisdom of participating in such an activity with an infant in her arms, but she trusted that Legolas would be mindful of Elboron. "I suppose," she agreed, her arms tightening around her nephew.

Scarcely had Legolas begun to "attack" when Elfwine poked his head out from behind the tree and exclaimed, "Leggy, you're not doing it right! You have to make the faces!"

Gúthwyn and Legolas exchanged a glance. "As the prince commands," Gúthwyn said, grinning.

Unfortunately, the second Legolas twisted his features into an exaggerated sneer, Elboron caught sight of him and began to cry. Legolas came to an immediate halt and apologized, but Gúthwyn shook her head. "It is not your fault," she assured the Elf as she started rocking her nephew. "I should have thought of this earlier…"

Elfwine stomped over to them. "Why aren't you playing?" he demanded.

"Please, Elfwine, speak a little more softly," Gúthwyn beseeched him, for Elboron's wailing had reached an even higher pitch. "You are frightening your cousin."

"Why do I have to be quiet because of _him_? He cries at everything," Elfwine insisted. "He is a st—"

"Elfwine," Gúthwyn said warningly. "You have already gotten one time-out today."

"It's not _fair_!" Elfwine snapped. "Why does he have to ruin our game?"

Legolas cleared his throat. "Perhaps we could continue the game, only with some changes to make it easier for your aunt and your cousin," he suggested to Elfwine, whose face was growing redder by the second. "If the two of them sit behind that bush"—he pointed out the one closest to them, which shielded a small bench near the fountain—"I can be the Orc trying to get to them, and you will have to stop me before I reach the bush."

Elfwine heaved a long-suffering sigh, but eventually he agreed to Legolas's proposal. Gúthwyn, with some relief, migrated over to the bench and occupied herself with calming Elboron down—no small feat, when Elfwine's exuberant yells were perpetually distressing the infant.

Gúthwyn had the unpleasant, fleeting suspicion that her eldest nephew was being as loud as possible for that very purpose.

"I will tell you a story, little one," she assured Elboron; but even the triumph of the Rohirric and Gondorian forces at the gates of Mordor (one of Elfwine's favorites) failed to make a difference. Elboron fussed continuously, his discontent such that, at one point, he kicked off his own shoe.

Gúthwyn tried another story, this one of her uncle leading the Rohirrim to the Pelennor Fields, but her efforts were thwarted by an ear-piercing shriek from Elfwine. Her eldest nephew appeared in front of them, cheeks flushed, a triumphant smile spread across his face. "Auntie Gúthwyn, I saved you! And Leggy said that I was fast!"

"That is wonderful, Elfwine, but remember what I said about speaking softly?" Gúthwyn asked; for Elboron had begun sobbing again, ruining what inadequate progress she had made. "Your cousin is upset right now… Oh, little one," she murmured to Elboron, wincing as his cries reached a painful pitch, "everything is all right, no one is going to hurt you…"

"_AUNTIE GÚTHWYN!_"

Elfwine's howl of rage was so loud that Éomund's daughter jumped, for a split second terrified that her eldest nephew had fallen and injured himself. Then she realized that he was staring at her in horror, his eyes filling with tears.

"_I_ am little one!" he shouted, stamping his foot on the ground. "Not that stupid, stupid baby! You can't call him that, it's _mine_!"

Elboron's screams mingled with his, the cacophony more than Gúthwyn's mind could process. Which child to comfort first—how could she take care of either of them, when the other was demanding her attention?—what to say to Elfwine, how to apologize—

Before she had time to think, Legolas appeared behind Elfwine. "Is everything all right?"

"NO!" Elfwine yelled, eliciting a fresh torrent of sobs from his cousin. "Auntie Gúthwyn likes him more than me and it's not fair and I hate _everything_!"

He burst into tears, threw down his sword, and bolted into the forest.

* * *

><p>And now for some review responses...<p>

**Skayes44:** I'm glad you enjoyed the last chapter! Elfwine is indeed a cutie.

**Guest:** It is a bit of a plot hole, Legolas not appearing to show any curiosity about Haldor's origins, and it's something I've added to a _very_ long list of things that will need to be fixed if I ever put this story through the editing wringer. Fortunately, however, it's also something than can and will be explained later on, though in a very belated way!

**Hiril Isilme:** Of course I remember you! I've always loved hearing your thoughts on Gúthwyn's journey, so I'm very glad to hear from you again. =) I hope college went well!


	86. Nicknames and Negotiations

**Chapter Eighty-Six**

"Elfwine!" Gúthwyn screamed, her grip tightening on Elboron as if she feared that he, too, would run away from her. "Elfwine, come back!"

But Elfwine did not come back, and Legolas watched as he was swallowed up by the trees.

"By the Valar," Gúthwyn whispered. She scrambled to her feet, the sudden motion distressing Elboron even more, and started towards the forest.

Legolas quickly detained her, careful to use only the lightest of pressure on her arm. "Let me go after him," he urged her. "I know these woods, and you have Elboron to take care of. I will bring him back, I promise."

Gúthwyn bit her lip, hesitating, but at length she recognized the logic behind his suggestion. Squaring her shoulders, she nodded.

It did not take long for Legolas to pick up Elfwine's trail; he could hear the young prince easily enough from the moment he entered the forest, though the boy was startlingly fast and already had several yards on him. He had plunged off of the path and was now darting through the trees, which would tire him out sooner rather than later—especially since he was still sobbing, and was drawing breath in a noisy, frantic quest for air.

"Elfwine!" Legolas called out when he had halved the distance between them.

"Go away!" Elfwine yelled back. He tried to quicken his pace, but scarcely took three steps before his foot caught on the exposed root of an oak. Legolas winced as the child tripped, landed knees-first on the ground, and toppled forward into a small bush. By the time he reached the site, Elfwine had burst into fresh tears and was thrashing violently against the branches.

"Be still," Legolas said, trying to restrain the boy. "You will only tangle yourself even further if you struggle."

"It _hurts_!" Elfwine howled.

Legolas narrowly avoided being kicked in the stomach. "Please, Elfwine, be still. I will get you out." He began to draw away the branches, slowly loosening their hold on the child. Elfwine continued struggling, more of a hindrance than a help. Eventually, Legolas succeeded in pulling him out, and the young prince could place his feet on firm ground once more.

"You are injured," Legolas observed, noting the small cuts on Elfwine's face and arms. "We ought to go back so that you can—"

"I don't _want_ to go back!" Elfwine glowered at him. "I want to run away!"

Legolas had not expected such a declaration. "Why do you want to run away?"

"Because nobody likes me anymore!" Elfwine burst out, his hands clenching into fists. "Papa is mad at me and Auntie Éowyn is mad at me and Auntie Gúthwyn likes Elboron better than me!" It had taken a valiant effort for him to finish the sentence amidst his sniffles, and now he gave himself entirely to the tears that had gathered in his eyes.

Legolas was surprised by the rapidity with which Elfwine's mind had converted the day's events into a conspiracy of hatred, before remembering how devastated his younger self had been whenever Thranduil would bar him from the archery range. Though his father had only resorted to this punishment in times of dire need—that is, when Legolas was being stubbornly disobedient, and resisting all other threats of chastisement—Legolas had vivid memories of languishing disconsolately in his room, convinced that his marksmanship would never recover from the lost training time.

Therefore inclined to be more sympathetic than incredulous, he said, "Your family loves you very much, Elfwine. And I can assure you that no one, not even Elboron, will ever take your place in Lady Gúthwyn's heart."

"She called him little one," Elfwine whispered, his bottom lip wobbling dangerously. "That's _mine_, and she gave it away!"

Legolas considered, and then thought better of, explaining that "little one" was an endearment of Gúthwyn's that she hardly limited to Elfwine. He knew she used it with Haiweth, though perhaps not as often now as she once had, and he did not doubt that she addressed other children with it as well. Clearly, Elfwine was under the impression that the term was exclusively his.

"Perhaps she means to share it with him," he suggested, "for you are both her nephews, and therefore equally important to her."

"But I don't _want_ to share it with him!" Elfwine stomped his foot on the ground. "I'm older and it was _mine_ first." Tears leaked from his eyes, mingling with the salty mess on his cheeks. "It's not fair."

"Life is not always fair," Legolas said gently. "Yet I am certain that your aunt never intended to hurt your feelings. She loves you very much."

"No, she doesn't!" Elfwine choked out. "She's mad at me because I asked her a bad question, even though she said she wouldn't be. And then she said she was mad at Papa, but she was lying because now she's mad at me again!"

Legolas knit his brow. "What do you mean, you asked her a bad question?"

"I won't tell you!" Elfwine's eyes flashed. "You'll be mad at me just like Papa and Auntie Gúthwyn."

More bewildered than ever, Legolas asked, "Elfwine, what could I possibly be angry with you about?"

"_That's what Auntie Gúthwyn said! And she _lied_!_"

"Elfwine—"

But the young prince of Rohan was not listening. "I hate everything!" he yelled. "Everything is wrong! Papa hates Mama and Mama hates Auntie Gúthwyn and Auntie Gúthwyn hates me because I say bad words and now she won't play with me!" He let out a howl of pure rage, his cheeks filling with blood as his limbs trembled uncontrollably.

There was an explosion of sound as the forest around them came alive: birds fled from their trees, animals scurried into other parts of the woods. Legolas gaped at the child before him in alarm, realizing that this was far beyond the scope of a normal temper tantrum—this was something that had been churning beneath the surface for months, and had wanted only a spark to boil over completely. He thought of the queen of Rohan, ice-cold in her demeanor towards Gúthwyn, and marveled that she could have sacrificed her son's happiness for this.

As quickly as it had begun, it was over. Elfwine's voice cracked and went still, and at the same time his limbs slackened; he fell to the ground, utterly drained of energy, and passed into a spate of weeping. He mumbled something in Rohirric, of which Legolas caught only Gúthwyn's name.

Pitying Elfwine, yet at a loss for how to comfort him when he remained ignorant of the full story behind his distress, Legolas settled on sitting beside him and carefully gathering the boy up from the ground. Elfwine did not protest, and simply adjusted his head so that it found a resting place in the crook of Legolas's arm. Then the tears came in earnest, flowing freely down the Elf's tunic.

Not knowing what else to do, Legolas began to murmur the words of a song he had heard in Rivendell on the eve of the War of the Ring. Though Bilbo Baggins had been its chief composer, Aragorn had had a hand in it as well; together they had created this ode to Eärendil, the Elven seafarer who bore the morning star across the sky. Legolas had not given it serious thought at the time, but after hearing the call of the gulls at Pelargir his heart had turned towards the old tales of the Sea. Now, he sang in hopes of restoring Elfwine's spirits:

_Eärendil was a mariner  
><em>_That tarried in Arvernien;  
><em>_He built a boat of timber felled  
><em>_In Nimbrethil to journey in;  
><em>_Her sails he wove of silver fair,  
><em>_Of silver were her lanterns made,  
><em>_Her prow was fashioned like a swan,  
><em>_And light upon her banners laid._

Elfwine's tears gradually slowed, his brow knitting as he tried to catch the thread of Legolas's tale. Soon he was quiet, save for the occasional sniffle, and he listened intently as Eärendil's journeys were recounted. When Legolas at last fell silent, he sighed and asked, "Did all that really happen?"

"Aye, it did. Long before your time. Long even before my time."

Elfwine peered up at him. "Leggy, how old are you?"

"In the reckoning of humans, I am nearly three thousand years old."

"Three _thousand_? But that is older than Papa!"

"Indeed. I walked on this earth well before your father was born."

"But you don't _look_ older than Papa!"

Legolas smiled. "Appearances can be deceiving."

Elfwine slowly digested this information. "Are Ran-in and Tree-on and Fye-on three thousand years old, too?"

"More or less. I have been friends with Raniean and Trelan for as long as I can remember."

"What about Fye-on?"

"I befriended him later, when we first began our training. He was in my class, and I was partnered with him for archery lessons." Though it had been a benevolent gesture on their instructor's part, it had only served to draw attention to Faelon's difficulties in managing a bow. He had been teased for it by their peers; Raniean in particular had not been kind.

"Is he your favorite friend?"

Legolas chuckled. "I do not have a favorite friend."

"Not even Auntie Gúthwyn?"

Legolas's eyes met Elfwine's, surprised. What had the child intuited, if anything beyond idle curiosity had prompted the question? Guardedly, he said, "I do not believe your aunt would consider me her favorite friend."

"I asked her if her favorite friend is you or Cobryn," Elfwine informed him. "Because she is always with Cobryn, but sometimes they get mad at each other. And sometimes she is with you, but she never gets mad at you."

Legolas bit back a smile, imagining what Elfwine's reaction would be if he ever found out about the beginnings of his friendship with Gúthwyn. "What did she tell you?" he inquired, curious in spite of himself.

The next instant, he regretted having asked. Of course the answer was Cobryn; he would be a fool to expect otherwise. Even though the two of them occasionally fought, it was clear that each held the other in high esteem.

Elfwine looked confused. "She didn't say," he replied, indignation touching the edges of his words. "She didn't pick!"

"Well, sometimes it is impossible to choose between friends," Legolas suggested, although he was quite certain that Gúthwyn had only refrained from doing so out of discretion. "And now I think it is time that we returned to her. She will be wondering where you are."

"Don't want to."

"We cannot stay here forever."

Elfwine shook his head and clung to Legolas. In an effort to cheer him up, Legolas said, "Your father told me something about you yesterday."

"He did?" Elfwine stared up at him in confusion.

"He told me that you wanted to learn how to use a bow."

Already looking more animated than he had a few seconds ago, Elfwine nodded eagerly. "I want to shoot like you!" he exclaimed. "Everyone knows that Elves shoot the best. That's what Papa says."

"That is only because we have more time to practice," Legolas replied diplomatically, "and because our vision is keener than that of most mortals, lest they belong to the line of Númenor."

"The ones that drowned."

"Correct." Legolas smiled down at the young child. "Yet even so, humans can become excellent archers. Your uncle Faramir was said to have shot down one of the Black Riders' winged steeds."

Elfwine looked dubious. "But they _flew_!"

"Aye, they did. It was a magnificent shot, or so I have heard. I do not doubt he has spent many hours practicing."

"_I_ want to practice! But Papa says not now because I am too young and I have to wait until I am older."

"Then it is fortunate that your father has changed his mind, because otherwise I would not be able to give you archery lessons tomorrow."

Elfwine went very still—except for his eyes, which widened until they seemed twice their normal size. "Papa said you could give me archery lessons?"

"He did," Legolas confirmed, grinning at the child's expression.

"He really did?"

"He really did."

Unexpectedly, Elfwine wrapped his arms around Legolas. "Thank you, Leggy!" he cried, squeezing.

Taken aback by the hug, Legolas hesitated a moment before tentatively returning it. "You are most welcome, Elfwine."

"I'll practice _really_ hard," Elfwine promised.

Legolas chuckled. "Before we practice, however," he said, his voice turning somber, "we must return to Gúthwyn."

"I guess," Elfwine conceded, his shoulders slumping a little. Yet the joy in his eyes remained unquenched, and by the time they stood up his mind had already returned to the archery lessons. "Leggy, what bow am I going to shoot with? Yours is taller than me!"

"We have some bows for beginners," Legolas assured him. "Those will not be so tall."

"Will you teach me how to use a bow on a horse? That is what Papa's men do, and I need to be just as good as them."

"That will be a lesson for another day."

"Oh." Elfwine frowned, then brightened. "I can't _wait_ to tell Onyveth!"

"Who?"

"My first-favorite friend. You're my second-favorite," Elfwine said matter-of-factly.

Grinning, Legolas let Elfwine direct the conversation all the way out of the forest.

* * *

><p>Gúthwyn expected that Legolas would return within moments of setting off. Elfwine had not gotten far before the pursuit began, after all, and his still-growing legs were no match for Legolas's strides. She therefore set about comforting Elboron as quickly as possible, so that he might be in a reasonably calm enough state when his cousin returned.<p>

Fortunately, the task took far less time than expected: Elboron was already dozing off, occasionally startling awake and then giving a bleary-eyed yawn. It was nearly unfathomable that Elfwine should be jealous of the time she spent with Elboron, since the baby was hardly awake for most of it. However, she reminded herself, Elfwine was used to commanding attention—not just from her, but from all the adults in their family. Now, he was no longer first in Auntie Éowyn and Uncle Faramir's hearts; he could not count on Auntie Gúthwyn's exclusive devotions; and even his own father was not fully immune to the charms of an infant. It was a bitter potion to swallow.

Gúthwyn herself had little experience with this kind of jealousy. She was the youngest of her siblings, and had never had to compete for affection from her uncle. Yet she could imagine that, trivial though Elfwine's problems might seem to an onlooker, they were very real and painful to him. Too late, she remembered Elfwine quarrelling with Haiweth over which of them got to be called "little one"; an argument that, as Haiweth grew older, had become irrelevant. Now it had reared its head again, and Gúthwyn had unintentionally hurt her eldest nephew.

She acknowledged that some form of discipline would be required. Elfwine's behavior towards his cousin could not go unpunished, especially since he was a prince and thus had to be held to higher standards. Yet Gúthwyn thought it best to leave such punishment to Éomer; she would content herself with gentler reprimands. Above all, she wanted to assure Elfwine that she had room in her heart for both nephews, and that he had never been in danger of losing her love.

_Where are they?_ she wondered when nearly ten minutes had gone by. _What is taking them so long?_ Surely Legolas had caught up to Elfwine by now. Had Elfwine somehow gotten injured? The thought made her heart stop, but she hastily consoled herself. Legolas would have alerted her if that had been the case.

Ought she to go in after them? If Elfwine were throwing a temper tantrum, Legolas was likely ill-equipped to deal with it, and she did not want him to think any less of her or Elfwine for having to suffer through such an episode. Yet she was reluctant to go traipsing through the forest with a baby in her arms, especially since Elboron had just fallen asleep.

She had just made up her mind to wait five more minutes when Legolas and Elfwine reappeared, the latter covered in scratches. Gúthwyn's eyes widened in alarm, but her nephew hardly seemed to notice them. He stopped short when he caught sight of her, and would not have advanced but for Legolas giving him a gentle nudge forward.

"Elfwine," she murmured, hurrying over to them. "What happened? Are you all right?"

Yet Elfwine was silent, his gaze fixed on Elboron. His eyes had narrowed into slits.

"He fell into a bush," Legolas explained. "I do not believe that any of the cuts are serious, but they should be looked at."

Up close, she could see that Legolas's assessment was correct. She thanked him and then, after a second's hesitation, inquired, "Might I request one more favor of you?"

"You have but to name it."

Blushing, for she was certain that she had done nothing to merit Legolas's generosity, Gúthwyn asked, "Would you be able to watch Elboron for a few minutes? I think Elfwine and I need to have a talk."

Elfwine looked positively miserable as Legolas agreed to take his younger cousin. "We will not be going far," Gúthwyn assured Legolas. "Just to that bench." She pointed to the seat behind the bushes, where she and Elfwine would have some privacy—although she did not doubt that Legolas would be able to hear every word of their conversation. "If Elboron starts fussing too much, let me know."

"I am sure he will be well-behaved."

Gúthwyn repressed a smirk at Legolas's naïveté—which was difficult, as the sight of a tall Elven warrior carrying a baby was already quite amusing. "Come, Elfwine," she said, taking her eldest nephew by the hand.

Elfwine slowly followed. When they reached the bench, she had him sit down first. Kneeling beside him, she carefully checked his face to make sure that none of the scratches required serious attention. Only when she was satisfied that they could wait did she join him on the seat.

Elfwine looked miserably up at her in anticipation of punishment. He watched in trepidation as his aunt took a deep breath and said, "Little one, I want to tell you a story."

Elfwine blinked. "You do?"

"I do." She smiled at him reassuringly.

"About what?" he asked, a note of suspicion in his voice.

"About me, when I was your age."

Elfwine's normally smooth brow was wrinkled in confusion, as if it were not possible for his aunt to ever have been his age.

"When I was five, your father was thirteen. He was already learning how to wield a sword and spear and bow, and he spent hours pretending to be in great battles with his friends. Whenever I tried to play with him, however, he would send me away, saying that I was too young to keep up. Sometimes, if I persisted, he would call me a baby."

"Papa _still_ calls you a baby," Elfwine pointed out, "even though it is not true."

Gúthwyn chuckled at the observation. "Aye, but back then he meant it unkindly. He did not like me to tag along with his friends. So I tried to play with the boys closer to my age, but they would not let me join them because I was a girl—and they mistakenly believed that girls were inferior.

"Now, my cousin, Théodred, was even older than your father. He was twenty-six, and he had many duties to attend to, as he was both a prince and the Second Marshal of the Mark."

"Was Théodred King Théoden's son? The one who died during the War?"

"Yes, that was him," Gúthwyn confirmed sadly. "But before he died, he took pity on me and taught me how to fight. Even when my uncle said that I was too young to learn, he insisted that I have the chance. He could have easily ignored me, yet he chose to spend time with me. And because of it, I looked up to him even more than I did your father."

Elfwine bit his lip, perturbed. "Was Papa ever mean to you?"

"Sometimes, little one. Especially when he wanted me to leave him alone. And I will not pretend that I never deserved his censure, for I was very persistent. Yet his rejections hurt my feelings, and that was when I ran to Théodred. He did not disdain the company of those smaller and weaker than himself."

"But… Papa isn't mean to you _now_, is he?"

"Of course not," Gúthwyn reassured her nephew. "He was much younger back then, and when we are young we often behave much differently than when we are older. But do you understand, little one, why I am telling you this story about my cousin?"

Elfwine's brown eyes narrowed in concentration. "Because I have a cousin?" he eventually offered.

"That is right. And like Théodred, you are older, stronger, and faster than your cousin. Which means that, if you so choose, you can completely ignore Elboron for the duration of your childhoods. He will not be able to keep up with you, so it will be easy for you to avoid him.

"However," she added, for Elfwine was furrowing his brow in thought, "as I did with Théodred, Elboron will look up to you as his older cousin. Once he reaches a certain age, he will think you are the best, bravest, smartest boy he knows. And he will follow you around, trying to do exactly what you are doing, because he will want to be just like you. But if you decide to shun him, and to call him names and make him cry, it will not be long before he stops looking up to you. Before he stops thinking that you are the best, or even very brave or smart. And once that trust is gone, Elfwine, you will never get it back."

By now, Elfwine was squirming under her gaze. Taking this as a positive sign, she continued, "Elboron may seem like a 'stupid baby' now, but one day he will be the prince of Ithilien—and you the king of Rohan. Things will be much easier for the two of you, and your realms, if you have already learned to get along with one another.

"You are a prince, little one, and you will have many of the responsibilities that my cousin Théodred once did. Some of them have already been given to you: you have started your schooling, and soon you will begin your military training. But one thing that you must also learn is that it is not kingly to insult or hurt someone who cannot defend themself."

"Like Elboron." Elfwine's voice was small.

"Like Elboron."

Elfwine thought for a long moment. "I am sorry I was mean to him," he finally said, swallowing. "And I am sorry I was mean to Auntie Éowyn."

Squeezing his shoulder, Gúthwyn replied, "I think Auntie Éowyn would be glad if you apologized to her."

"Okay," Elfwine agreed quietly. "But… Auntie Gúthwyn?"

"Mm?"

"Do you have to call him 'little one,' too?"

Under normal circumstances, Gúthwyn might have explained that 'little one' was not exclusively for Elfwine, but she did not have the heart to do so now—especially when it was clearly important to her nephew. "I suppose not," she said slowly. "Maybe we can come up with a new nickname for Elboron, so he does not feel left out when he is old enough to understand our conversation."

"Baby," Elfwine suggested.

"Hm… He might not like being called a baby. Besides, your father already calls me 'baby sister,' so having another 'baby' might make things confusing."

Elfwine's mouth formed an "o" of understanding. "El," he said next.

"El? Short for Elboron?" Gúthwyn inquired. When her nephew nodded, she smiled in agreement. "El it is, then. And you will be 'little one' for as long as you want to be."

Elfwine appeared quite satisfied with this arrangement.

"Now, little one," Gúthwyn said, for she was not quite done yet, "you know that I love you and Elboron both, and neither one of you more than the other."

Elfwine let out an unhappy sigh. "But you used to love _me_ the best."

"I still love you the best," Gúthwyn replied gently. "But I also love Elboron the best."

"Auntie Gúthwyn, you can't love _two_ people the best." Elfwine looked utterly scandalized.

"Of course I can," Gúthwyn said cheerfully. "I love you, and Elboron, and Hammel and Haiweth so much that I cannot possibly love one of you more than the other. Luckily, my heart is big enough to accommodate you all."

Elfwine glanced doubtfully at her chest. "But then it would be too big for you!"

"Not at all, little one," Gúthwyn replied, laughing at the image. "It fits perfectly in here." She placed her palm over her heart, then smiled down at her nephew. "And you need never worry that there is not enough room for you, because there always will be."

"Positive?"

Gúthwyn leaned over and kissed his brow. "Positive."

The light returned to Elfwine's eyes, and when she hugged him his arms wrapped tightly around her. They stayed there for a moment, the storm blown over, until at length Gúthwyn suggested that they return to Legolas. Nearly ten minutes had passed since she had handed Elboron over to him, and she hoped that he had not grown tired of the infant. Yet her fears proved groundless: when they reunited with Legolas, the Elf was gently rocking the baby in his arms, humming a low tune.

"Is everything all right?" he asked, glancing up. "Elboron has been asleep this entire time."

"You have to call him El now," Elfwine interjected. "We decided."

"A thousand thanks," Gúthwyn told a grinning Legolas. "I appreciate your watching Elbor—El."

"You do not have to thank me," Legolas responded: "it was my pleasure." He handed Elboron back to Gúthwyn, carefully supporting the infant's head throughout the exchange. Perhaps Gúthwyn should not have been surprised—after all, Legolas had always been wonderful with Elfwine, despite having no children of his own, and it stood to reason that he would be just as adept at watching over Elboron. Yet she was nevertheless caught off-guard by his gentleness, and she felt a rush of gratitude towards him as she took Elboron back into her arms.

And she wondered, not for the first time today, what Legolas would be like as a father…

"Auntie Gúthwyn, guess _what_!" Elfwine exclaimed, cutting off her blushing reverie.

"Quiet voice, little one," Gúthwyn reminded him. "What is it?"

Elfwine reluctantly spoke more softly. "Leggy said that Papa said that Leggy can teach me how to shoot! And we are going to start tomorrow!"

"Really?" Gúthwyn inquired, pretending that this was new information. "That is very generous of Leggy—Legolas." Her face heated up at the mistake, and she did not dare look at Legolas as she asked, "Have you thanked him yet?"

"I did! Thank you, Leggy."

Gúthwyn laughed at this and finally glanced up. Legolas was smiling, and as their gazes met she was struck again by how handsome he was, how kind and compassionate and how very much the opposite of Haldor he had proven himself to be. She felt something stir within her, a type of warmth that filled her entire body and could have made her sing for happiness.

And when a voice inside her head urged resistance, reminding her about Mordor, she closed her mind to its advances and took Elfwine's hand.

"Come," she said to both of them, "let us return to the house."

* * *

><p><strong>Response to reviewer Emelda jones:<strong> My posting schedule is notoriously irregular, but there's usually at least one new chapter a month, _maybe_ two if I'm extra productive - so checking back about once a month should keep you updated! If you're interested in signing up for a account, you can get new chapter alerts automatically sent to your email, which might come in handy if you're keeping track of multiple stories. I'm glad you've been enjoying Gúthwyn's tale so far - thank you for commenting! =)


	87. Sibling Speculation

**Chapter Eighty-Seven**

The next day arrived with clear skies and warm temperatures, perfect conditions for Elfwine's first archery lesson with Legolas. Éomer and Gúthwyn were to be in attendance, and a picnic was prepared so that they might all have lunch afterwards. Éowyn and Faramir, however, elected to spend some time alone with Elboron, and were gone on their outing long before Gúthwyn woke up.

Fortunately for Gúthwyn, Legolas had arranged for the training grounds to be empty while he was instructing Elfwine; and when the party arrived there an hour before noon, the only Elf in sight was the prince, putting the finishing touches on a small target that had been designed for a younger pupil.

It was necessary to preface the lesson with a thorough lecture on how to safely handle a bow and arrow, as Elfwine had never handled such a weapon before. It was also thought advisable that Éomer should warn Elfwine about being on his best behavior and paying heed to Legolas, though Gúthwyn privately doubted that her nephew would do anything to jeopardize the continuation of his tutelage.

"I must say," Éomer commented about half an hour after the session had finally commenced, "I had originally doubted that Elfwine's attention span would be equal to an archery lesson. I was quite mistaken."

Gúthwyn smiled as she watched him survey his son with pride. "He is doing wonderfully, is he not?" she asked, turning back to where her nephew was absorbed in Legolas's instruction. The Elf was explaining how to properly draw a bow, allowing his charge to attempt the task before making gentle corrections. Elfwine had drawn the bow several times already, without even touching an arrow—Gúthwyn had expected it to be a sore trial of his patience and, like Éomer, was pleasantly surprised to be proven wrong.

Éomer chuckled at her remark. "He has hardly done more than raise the bow," he pointed out, though not unkindly. "But if anyone is going to turn him into a good marksman, it will be Legolas."

Gúthwyn nodded in agreement, her gaze affixed to the Elven prince before her. Legolas was crouched beside her nephew, carefully angling his small shoulders so that they were in perfect alignment with the bow. He said something, inaudible to Gúthwyn, and his pupil nodded eagerly. "He is so kind to Elfwine," she murmured, feeling an unexpected rush of fondness for Legolas as he chatted with her nephew. "I am sure he has a great deal of work that demands his attention, yet he spent his morning setting up this target and gathering equipment that Elfwine could use. He has put so much effort—we must thank him properly—" She fell silent, aware that she was babbling.

Éomer raised his eyebrows, but said merely, "You are right. I had not thought he would be so good with children."

"Really?" Gúthwyn asked, puzzled. "He has always been so gentle, so accommodating, with Elfwine. The number of stories I must have heard him tell—and he is so engaging, Elfwine never gets distracted—and he never minds when Elfwine is difficult, I told you how kind he was to him yesterday—and even with Elboron, an infant, he was a natural… What?"

For Éomer had given her a queer look, half amusement and half something strange, an odd expression that she could not decipher. "I have never heard you speak so warmly of him, sister."

"Well"—Gúthwyn hoped she was not blushing, though she feared it a lost cause—"it is just that he has been remarkably solicitous this visit. And it seems extraordinary for a man—for an Elf—of his importance, without any children of his own, to be so capable with my two admittedly challenging nephews—"

"Be careful," Éomer warned with a smirk. "That is quite a generalization to make of single men." When she flushed, he added, "Cobryn never seems to have trouble with children."

"And yet Cobryn is so exceptional in every other way that I think he must not be the rule."

"You may be right about that," Éomer agreed, yet Gúthwyn suspected that he was merely letting her off the hook. Relieved, she turned her attention back to Legolas and Elfwine. The latter had raised his bow and was pointing it at the target, his face scrunched up in concentration. It was an utterly adorable sight, and she could not avoid the melancholy thought that he was growing up so fast. At this rate, it seemed, Elboron would take his place tomorrow.

Legolas caught her eye and smiled, his gaze holding hers for but an instant before he looked back at Elfwine. "Remember, pull the string back as close to your ear as you can get it," she heard him murmur.

Elfwine nodded and immediately corrected his stance, his brow furrowing with the effort. He was drawing the bow with more ease now, having initially struggled with the tension; Gúthwyn told Éomer so, and marked how her brother's chest swelled with pride. "He is a fast learner," Éomer said, smiling fondly at his son. "And he is far more attentive to his instructor than I ever was at his age."

_He has united the best qualities of his parents,_ Gúthwyn thought, although she did not dare utter it aloud. "I am sure he will be equally proficient with the sword. Who is to train him?"

Edoras had no official sword master; children usually learned from a combination of their relatives and whichever soldiers were appointed to teach classes. So Gúthwyn was not surprised when her brother replied, "I will see to the majority of his lessons. Gamling and Erkenbrand shall fill in when I cannot. They are under strict orders to push him harder than they would other students."

"But not too hard, I hope," Gúthwyn replied, anxious at the prospect of her nephew being subjected to any discomfort.

"Of course not," Éomer said placatingly. "But you cannot deny that his life has been exceedingly sheltered until now. He has wanted for nothing, and until Elboron's birth he never had to contend with the notion that he might not be the center of everyone's world. Particularly yours, baby sister."

Gúthwyn swallowed. "You think I spoil him?"

"I know you do." Yet Éomer did not speak accusingly, and a grin was on his face as he continued, "And it is just as well, for I cannot. He ought to have someone who will indulge him—with moderation."

"It is difficult for me to limit myself to moderation," Gúthwyn admitted. "I would hardly want to refuse my nephews anything."

"Perhaps one day you will learn that lesson," Éomer murmured, which Gúthwyn pretended not to hear.

Silence fell between them as Legolas showed Elfwine how to fit an arrow to his bow; then, while Elfwine was attempting the task by himself, Éomer inquired, "Have you been able to form many acquaintances in Emyn Arnen? Éowyn tells me that you have been keeping mostly to the main house."

"She is not wrong." Gúthwyn sighed. "Gondorians are far more reserved than our people. Sorry, your people—"

"Our people," Éomer corrected her. "Your home is still in Rohan."

"Our people," Gúthwyn repeated with a faint smile. "I have made but a handful of friends—and I cannot always rely on their companionship, since they have obligations of their own."

"What of the training grounds?"

"I have been able to find sparring partners among some of the younger men," Gúthwyn reported, "but I fear there is little hope of my ever being able to practice with the rest of Faramir's Rangers. They are not overly fond of me, due to my past behavior to their lord."

"You know there is a solution to all that," Éomer said gently.

"Brother, I have no plans to return home in the immediate future," Gúthwyn responded with a sigh. "Not unless Éowyn or Faramir should wish it."

Éomer shrugged and did not press the issue, though Gúthwyn knew she would be mistaken to believe that the subject had been entirely dropped.

"Papa! Auntie Gúthwyn!" Elfwine ran over to them, Legolas close behind. "Leggy says I get to start _shooting_ now!"

"Really?" Éomer asked, chuckling. Giving Elfwine his waterskin, he asked, "And I trust you are going to pay close attention to everything he tells you?"

"I _know_, Papa. I _will_."

"He already has," Legolas remarked, smiling at Gúthwyn. She could not help but grin back. "He is a most apt pupil."

"Leggy, can we go back now?"

"Once you have some more water. All warriors must keep up their strength." Legolas spoke gravely; but when Elfwine's back was turned, he winked at Gúthwyn. She repressed a giggle as her nephew eagerly slurped down several mouthfuls of water.

"Auntie Gúthwyn, will you watch me?" Elfwine pleaded when he was done.

"Of course!" Gúthwyn assured him. "I would not miss it for all of Middle-earth."

Elfwine beamed and raced back to his bow, where he was joined again by Legolas. Gúthwyn watched as the Elf said something to her nephew, then reached for his own bow. Faster than she could blink, an arrow was in his hand; then, with a speed that would have put lightning to shame, he nocked the arrow and sent it flying into the heart of the target.

Elfwine's expression was priceless. He gaped at the target, then at Legolas, then at the target again, and finally back at Legolas. "_How_ did you _do_ that?" Gúthwyn heard him demand, staring up at the Elf in awestruck adulation.

"Perhaps I should have him instruct the rest of my men as well," Éomer muttered. Gúthwyn nodded in agreement: the Rohirrim were by no means poor marksmen, but none could have come remotely close to the display of skill they had just witnessed.

Right now, though, Elfwine was Legolas's only charge—and one whom Legolas was happy to oblige with another demonstration, this time more slowly so as to demonstrate the proper technique. Elfwine watched closely as Legolas went through all the motions before at last releasing the arrow, which landed beside its companion with a soft thump.

_Incredible,_ Gúthwyn thought. Legolas seemed unfathomably talented, and not just because she herself was an abysmal archer. Indeed, she had never known anyone to be so capable with a bow, except…

Refusing to allow such memories to cloud her morning, Gúthwyn focused her attention back on Elfwine. He was rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet as Legolas spoke quietly to him, apparently giving another lecture on the importance of safely handling such a dangerous weapon. She wished she could have found a way to capture the moment, somehow convincing both of them to remain in place while Haiweth drew a sketch. Her nephew's studious face was adorable, and Legolas…

She lost her train of thought and observed the prince for a time, dimly registering the steadiness of his voice as everything else around her seemed to fade away. In moments like these, when he was crouched down to speak with Elfwine, and the sun was shining overhead, it was hard to remember that she had once considered Legolas capable of cruelty. Were it not for her past, she would have dismissed the notion as absurd. He had proven again and again that she had nothing to fear from him, and now he was being every bit as gentle with her nephew as he had always been with her.

_I was such a fool to doubt him,_ she mused, watching Legolas hold out an arrow for Elfwine's inspection. Her nephew peered at the projectile in wide-eyed interest, listening as Legolas pointed out each individual part. Gúthwyn smiled to see the Elf making eye contact with the young prince, ensuring that each description was fully understood before moving on to the next. How could she have spent years convinced that something sinister lay beneath the surface?

Yet now she knew better. Now she could observe him without terror, could remark upon his finer qualities without shame, and notice how handsome he was…

"You seem lost in thought."

Éomer's voice startled her, and she was mortified to feel a blush spreading across her cheeks. Praying he would not detect anything amiss, she shrugged and replied, "Oh, no, I was just—"

But, alas, subterfuge had never been her strong suit, and Éomer's chortle dashed all hopes of concealment. "Baby sister, your face is redder than my armor! Perhaps I should not have intruded."

"You were not intruding on anything," Gúthwyn lied, her cheeks heating. As much as she loved Éomer, he sometimes had the worst timing.

_I was doing nothing wrong,_ she reminded herself. _I was making a perfectly innocent observation._

_Yet one that you are reluctant to share with your brother,_ remarked another voice.

Gúthwyn bristled. Of course she did not want to confide in Éomer on this matter—her brother had already made a number of troubling comments about her and Legolas, and she hardly needed to encourage him. However, that did not mean there was anything improper about finding Legolas attractive. Surely half the women in Edoras agreed with her. It was a completely reasonable opinion to have, especially since it meant absolutely nothing.

_And now you have given the matter far more contemplation than it merits,_ she scolded herself.

Mindful that Legolas had likely heard the entire exchange (she could only imagine how he might be filling in the blanks), she tried explaining herself to Éomer. "I was just… I was just thinking… about how lucky you are to have Elfwine."

There. Distracting Éomer from her love life by shifting his focus to her childlessness was not a particularly deft maneuver, nor likely one that would offer her a respite from his inquisitiveness, but at least she would not have to worry about him connecting the dots to Legolas.

As she had expected, Éomer's teasing grin faded. "I am sorry, baby sister," he murmured. "There is but one piece of advice I can offer you there."

She imagined what his reaction would be if she blurted out the truth: _worry not, brother, I am already quite ahead of you._ Yet she had no desire to reveal her unconventional arrangement with Cobryn, so she merely replied, "I know."

Fortunately, it was then that Elfwine took his first shot; and in the subsequent excitement, Gúthwyn's predicament was quite forgotten.

* * *

><p>After dinner, Legolas headed outside and struck upon one of his favorite walking paths. Although the ground was covered in shadows from the surrounding trees, light lingered in the sky above, a warm golden haze slowly diffusing in the west. He looked to the east, but only a few stars had begun to shine against the velvet gloom. Unperturbed, he continued moving, pausing now and then to listen to a distant strain of song. The Elves of Eryn Lasgalen were not as given to merriment as their kin who dwelled in Imladris, yet nor were they strangers to such simple pleasures.<p>

As he walked, he reflected upon the day's engagements, perhaps the most enjoyable of which had been Elfwine's archery lesson. It was the first time he had ever been solely responsible for a student's progress; in the past, he had limited himself to small hints or suggestions, not wishing to interfere with an instructor's advice. Elfwine had proven to be an unpredictable pupil: more impatient than Legolas could ever recall himself being (although perhaps not surprising, given that he was a mortal child), and alternately quite laborious in his efforts to improve his skill.

He privately thought that Elfwine's main fault was his tendency to be self-centered—which likely did not make him unique amongst children, but which nevertheless had caused some problems for the boy on this visit alone. However, Legolas was confident in Éomer's ability to correct this trait; even Gúthwyn might be able to coax herself into a reprimand or two. He smiled at the idea, knowing full well that Éomund's daughter would never have the heart to discipline her nephews.

As he recalled how pleased Gúthwyn had been to watch Elfwine's lesson, his spirit lifted and his steps seemed lighter. Every smile, every glimmer of pride in her eyes had been a wonder to behold. She had looked so happy that morning, her hair shot through with sunlight and her cheeks pink from grinning. And then there was what she had said about him to Éomer…

The soft, yet unmistakable _thump_ of a mortal's footsteps met his ears. Someone was coming down the path, hidden from view by a clump of trees that jutted out into the bend. Legolas listened closely and smiled, recognizing Gúthwyn's short stride. He decided to stop and wait where he was, lest he frighten her by rounding the curve just as she was doing the same.

A moment later, he was glad he had decided to remain put. Gúthwyn came into view and abruptly halted, her eyes widening in surprise as she beheld him. "Legolas," she said faintly, putting her hand over her chest. Her voice gaining in strength, she added, "I was just looking for you. Unless—unless you would rather be alone, it can wait…"

"I would be glad for your company," he assured her. "Do you need something?"

She shook her head, drawing closer until they were only a few feet apart. "I just wanted to thank you for today. For—for what you did for Elfwine. He had a wonderful time with you."

"You need not thank me," Legolas replied. "I was more than happy to instruct him—indeed, I am honored that your brother thinks so highly of my abilities."

"Not only Éomer," Gúthwyn murmured. A second later, when Legolas's breath had stuck in his throat, she blushed and added, "Elfwine looks up to you immensely. It meant a lot to him that he could learn archery from you. I know you heard most of it at dinner, but he really has been talking of nothing else since."

Legolas fought to conceal his emotions, an odd mixture of pleasure and embarrassment. To know that a young child admired him was at once an honor and a responsibility; but he felt that he had hardly done anything to merit Elfwine's esteem, save to tell him the occasional story and provide him with an archery lesson. And yet, Gúthwyn's praise filled him with warmth, a strange heat that pooled slowly in the depths of his stomach.

"He did very well today," he remarked, trying to keep his voice steady. "If he keeps practicing, I am certain that he will improve markedly."

"Really?" Gúthwyn's face lit up. "I am glad you think so—I will trust your opinion above even Éomer's in this regard—not that Éomer thought differently, that is—" She broke off, looking embarrassed. "What I mean is, your authority in this matter is considerable, since you are the best archer I have ever met."

Legolas could not help but feel flattered by the compliment—and it meant all the more to him, coming from Gúthwyn. Thanking her, he asked, "Would you care to join me for the rest of my walk?"

At first, Gúthwyn was too startled by his request to respond. Then she smiled softly and said, "I would be delighted to."

* * *

><p>Upon reaching Éomer and Elfwine's room, Éowyn rapped softly in case the latter was already asleep. Her caution proved needless, however, for her knock produced an exclamation of "Papa, we have a visitor!"<p>

"I came to say goodnight," Éowyn announced when her nephew opened the door.

"Goodnight!" Elfwine cried, the amount of energy in his voice suggesting that he would not be retiring for quite some time.

"Come in," Éomer bade her from the desk where he was writing a letter. "Elfwine was just getting ready for bed—not that you can tell…"

Éowyn entered the room, stepping over the remnants of a toy army that had clearly just fought a great battle.

"Leggy and the Elves won," Elfwine explained, rushing forward to collect his prized Elven warriors. "They beat the evil Núm'noreans!"

"Conducting business at this hour?" Éowyn inquired as Elfwine scampered off to the window.

"Fortunately not," Éomer replied, rubbing at his eyes. "I am writing Aragorn to let him know that we will be stopping by Minas Tirith on our way home. I promised Elfwine that I would show him the Pelennor Fields."

Éowyn repressed a brief shudder at the memory of the darkness that had stolen over her upon those fields. "I am sure there will be plenty of sights to keep him occupied," she murmured. "Not to mention more children his age."

"Which will be good for him," Éomer said quietly. "With the exception of Elboron, his companions have been almost exclusively adults this past month."

"He has been enjoying himself with Gúthwyn and Legolas, though," Éowyn pointed out. Her nephew's happiness had gone nearly uninterrupted… save for his jealousy of any attention that Elboron received. Such a phenomenon was common in young children, however, and Elfwine had apologized to her quite sweetly at dinner the night before; she was confident that the issue would soon blow over.

"Mm." Éomer's brow furrowed. "Speaking of Gúthwyn, have you seen her lately? I went to her room about ten minutes ago and she was nowhere to be found."

"She is outside," Elfwine reported, smashing two of his Elven warriors together. "She is with Leggy!"

The two siblings looked at him in surprise. "How do you know that?" Éomer asked his son.

Elfwine pointed out the window. "Because I _see_ her!"

Éowyn and Éomer exchanged glances, then simultaneously moved toward the window. Elfwine abandoned his soldiers and made room for them, jabbing a small finger out at the gardens below. "See? Auntie Gúthwyn is laughing. Leggy must be saying something funny."

Because of the candlelight in the room, Éowyn and Éomer had to press their faces to the windowpane in order to see their younger sister. At last, Éomer nudged Éowyn. "By the fountain," he muttered.

Éowyn spotted them an instant later. Gúthwyn and Legolas were sitting on a small bench that faced the window, though neither of them was paying any heed to their surroundings. Gúthwyn's eyes were bright with mirth, and her response made Legolas chuckle.

"Leggy is the nicest to Auntie Gúthwyn," Elfwine declared, sighing happily.

"And I daresay I can guess why," Éomer muttered.

Éowyn shot him a warning glance—the last thing they needed was for Elfwine to repeat any of their suspicions to Gúthwyn. Elfwine had apparently grown bored of watching his aunt, however, and was not listening. "Where did Ran-in and Tree-on go?" he mused to himself, before slithering out of his seat and wandering off in search of the rest of his figurines.

"See the way he looks at her," Éomer murmured.

Gúthwyn, in the midst of speech, was oblivious as always; but even from a distance, Éowyn could tell that Legolas was hanging onto their baby sister's every word. Not once did his eyes stray from her own, and ever his lips seemed to curve upwards in a soft smile.

"Do you think that anything will come of it?" Éowyn asked her brother. Although she had marked Legolas's increasing attentions to Gúthwyn over the past couple of years, Gúthwyn had given no indication of either noticing or reciprocating them. It was clear that she was starting to consider Legolas a close friend, but would her thoughts ever lead her in another direction?

Éomer gave an uneasy shrug. "Time is not on their side."

"Least of all his," Éowyn answered with a sigh. Perhaps it was wrong of her to consider the possibility of such a union, when to Legolas it would be but a fleeting period of happiness—and all too soon, a fading memory. She could not even begin to comprehend what it would be like to mourn someone for an eternity; yet such would be Legolas's lot, should aught transpire between him and Gúthwyn.

_Or perhaps it is too late, and that lot is already his,_ she thought sadly, wondering if Legolas was too far along that path to turn back now. There was much she did not comprehend about Elves, but she knew they only ever gave their hearts to one person—even if that person did not return their feelings.

"Maybe it is for the best," Éomer mused. Lowering his voice, he added, "I consider Legolas a friend, and an honorable man—an honorable Elf. And he has always treated our baby sister with kindness. Yet I cannot help but watch them now with reservations. Can you imagine"—his voice dropped even further—"Gúthwyn living with the Elves? Would she truly be happy amongst such folk whose ways are so different from our own? She does not even speak their language."

"It would be an adjustment," Éowyn conceded.

"More than that," Éomer replied. "Though she no longer cringes at the sight of Legolas, she is still frightened of his kind. For her to reside in this colony, sundered from her home, the only mortal for miles—" He broke off and shook his head. "I will admit I have entertained the thought of Legolas making his feelings known to her, but mostly because she has few choices and little time left. And meanwhile the more I consider it, the more absurd it seems. How many unions have there been between a human and an immortal?"

"Aragorn and Arwen—"

"Are the exception, not the rule. How many others?" Éomer pressed. "And have they ended well, with one of them growing old and perishing while the other remained young and hale? In our desire to see Gúthwyn wedded, would we encourage her into such a marriage?"

Éowyn bit her lip. Now that Éomer had spoken, it did seem rather ludicrous to be speculating over Legolas's intentions. What could the outcome of such a match be, other than sorrow? It was one thing to rejoice in the possibility of Gúthwyn finally finding love, when before she had been so unlucky; it was quite another to consider the reality of the situation.

"Papa? What are you and Auntie Éowyn talking about?" Elfwine asked, peering up at them from his collection of warriors. "Why are you whispering?"

"Nothing that you need concern yourself with," Éomer replied.

Elfwine frowned at that, but chose not to pursue the matter. "I want to play Helm's Deep. Will you play with me?"

"Perhaps we could play 'who can pick up all these toys the quickest,'" Éomer suggested, surveying the mess on the carpet.

"Papa! No one wants to play _that_."

Éowyn chuckled as Éomer left to deal with his son. Alone at the window, she continued observing Gúthwyn and Legolas, noting how they seemed to have moved closer in the time that had elapsed. As she watched, Gúthwyn grinned at Legolas and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, only for it to fall right back out again. Legolas's eyes darted to the lock, a brief moment of distraction that Éowyn was positive her baby sister had not noticed.

As Gúthwyn chattered on and Legolas listened with a contented smile, Éowyn recalled her brother's words: _In our desire to see Gúthwyn wedded, would we encourage her into such a marriage?_

She thought of how anxious Gúthwyn became whenever they journeyed to the colony, try though she might to conceal it. As far as she had come since her days in Mordor, here her recovery still faltered; here she flinched at a sudden movement from a strange Elf, and her eyes were continually darting around in search of new threats. It was a constant hive of activity that quelled only, noticeably, in Legolas's company.

But familiarity and friendship were not the same as love. Even if Gúthwyn felt comfortable enough with Legolas to momentarily set aside her fears, there was nothing to suggest that she had developed an attraction to him. She had been smiling more in his presence, Éowyn would allow that; and according to Éomer, she had positively raved about Legolas's kindness to Elfwine. Yet what did that mean, if anything? She certainly had not confided in Éowyn—in fact, she'd grown visibly upset whenever Éowyn brought up the matter.

Of course, a denial could have a myriad of motivations behind it.

Out in the garden, something caught her eye. Legolas and Gúthwyn's conversation had evidently come to an end; the former rose from the bench, turning and offering his hand to the latter. Gúthwyn glanced up at him, and for a moment they looked like the subjects of a painting: the gentleman asking the lady to dance, and the lady on the verge of replying, a thousand unspoken words suspended between them.

Then Gúthwyn placed her hand in Legolas's, breaking the spell; and it almost seemed to Éowyn that her baby sister was reluctant to let go, that her palm remained clasped in his for a heartbeat too long after he helped her up. But just as quickly as it had happened, it was over, and there was at least a foot between them as they walked off into the night.

Leaving Éowyn without the slightest idea what to think, and a growing determination to keep an eye on the enigmatic pair.

* * *

><p><strong>Sarahpai:<strong> Thank you for your comment! I've actually uploaded ebook versions of these stories before (not quite the same as a physical book, but currently the only legal option!), so it is possible to own them on your phone, iThing, ereader, etc. I'm not quite sure where the links are at the moment, but I'll see if I can get them re-posted on the site in my profile this weekend. =)


	88. Éomer's Pride

**Chapter Eighty-Eight**

Once the visit to Legolas's colony was over, Éomer and Elfwine's departure came far too quickly for Gúthwyn's liking. Although they had been in Ithilien for nearly a month, she wished that they could have remained longer; and by the final night of their stay, she found her spirits low and her mood in dire need of improvement.

After dinner, Elfwine begged Gúthwyn to tell him one last story. They installed themselves in her chambers, where Elfwine curled up against her on the bed and listened as she described the defeat of Gondor's enemies at the hands of Eorl the Young and Cirion the Steward—the men who had gone on to swear the first oath of allegiance between Rohan and Gondor.

"The same one that Papa and King Elessar have," Elfwine remarked.

"Indeed." Gúthwyn ruffled her nephew's hair. "And someday it will be your duty to uphold it."

Elfwine nodded gravely, but the effect was ruined when the tip of his tongue poked out in an adorable image of concentration. "Can you tell me another story?"

"It is getting late, little one," Gúthwyn said regretfully. She would have liked nothing more than to while away the hours with her nephew, listening to his cheerful chatter. "And you will need your strength for tomorrow's journey to Minas Tirith."

Elfwine sighed, then brightened. "Do you know what Papa said to me today?"

"No, what?"

"He said that I was getting too big to ride with him on Firefoot, and the next time we go on a trip I will get to ride a pony all by myself."

_By the Valar, he is growing so quickly,_ Gúthwyn thought in amazement. She remembered how thrilled she had been the first time Théoden permitted her to ride alone for longer than a supervised jaunt around Edoras. They had only been visiting a nearby village, but she had felt quite mature as a result of her newly acquired freedom. Now she smiled, imagining how proudly Elfwine might guide his pony through its short paces.

"You must be very excited, little one."

"I can already ride a pony myself," Elfwine hastened to assure her. "But I'm only allowed when Papa is there. I _really_ want to learn how to shoot from a horse, too, but he says I have to wait. So right now I can only pretend to with Onyveth."

He held up the Elven warrior he had received from Legolas on the morning of their departure from the colony, a birthday present Gúthwyn hoped Legolas had not labored overmuch in carving. "Onyveth" was the first female toy soldier in a now formidable army, and Elfwine had wasted no time in elevating her to commanding status along with "Leggy" and "Papa." (Lebryn would be absurdly pleased, Gúthwyn thought with a small grin, to hear that his daughter's namesake wielded such power.)

"Do you want to hear me name all the kings of Rohan?"

It was an obvious ploy on Elfwine's part to extend his bedtime, but the opportunity to see for herself how his lessons were coming along was too tempting for Gúthwyn to pass up. "I would love to," she replied, kissing his brow. "Starting with the First Line."

Elfwine's eyes glowed with triumph as he tucked Onyveth back under his arm. "Eorl the Young, Brego, Aldor, Fréa, Fréawine—"

"Slow down, little one!" Gúthwyn chided him, laughing. "Have your instructors yet taught you anything about these kings, or only their names?"

Elfwine dutifully recited, "Eorl the Young saved Gondor at the Battle of the Field of Celebrant, which is why he got the kingdom of Rohan… only it was called a different name that I forget." He looked sheepishly up at Gúthwyn.

"Calenardhon," she reminded him.

"Calenardhon," he repeated, stumbling a little over the pronunciation. "And that is why we are the Eorlingas, because it means 'sons of Eorl'…"

Gúthwyn's heart swelled with pride as her nephew went on to provide an anecdote about each and every king of Rohan, focusing especially on renowned heroes such as Helm Hammerhand, Théoden, and—of course—his own father. His bedtime was long past when he finished the list, concluding, "Papa is the best."

"That he is," Gúthwyn agreed happily. "And when you return home, you will learn to be just like him."

Elfwine's face darkened.

"Little one?" she inquired, squeezing his shoulder. "Is something wrong?"

"Can I stay with you and Auntie Éowyn?" The words burst from his mouth, tumbling over one another in his haste to get them out.

Gúthwyn felt her heart sink. "Little one…"

"_Please?_" Elfwine begged, his eyes filling with tears. "I promise to be nice to El. And I'll do everything that you and Auntie Éowyn and Uncle Faramir tell me to."

"Elfwine…" Gúthwyn paused, weighing her words carefully. "I would love nothing more than to have you stay with us—but your place is at home with your parents." As Elfwine began to shake his head, she reminded him, "It has been over a month since you have seen your mother, and I know she misses you greatly."

"But I don't _want_ to go home!" Elfwine shrieked, an instant before his small frame crumpled with sobs.

Gúthwyn's mind froze, stunned by the sight of her nephew's anguish; but her body was quick to respond, and her arms were wrapped around him before she had time to process the implications of what she was seeing. "Oh, little one," she murmured, rocking him back and forth as he wept. She said naught else for several minutes, for Elfwine was crying too hard to carry on a conversation. Eventually, when she thought his tears were slowing, she asked, "Why do you not wish to go home?"

"B-B-Because Papa h-hates Mama!" Elfwine howled. "He _hates_ her a-a-and M-Mama is always sad and everything is wrong!"

"Oh, Elfwine." Gúthwyn kissed the top of his head, blinking back tears of her own. She felt horrible for her nephew, and it was a thousand times worse knowing that she was partly to blame for his misfortunes. Would any of this have happened if she had remained in Rohan? Would she have been able to keep the peace between her brother and his wife, at least in Elfwine's presence? Surely Éomer would not have been so angry, had he not felt that she had been driven away from her home.

Trying to calm her nephew, she murmured, "Little one, your father does not hate your mother. He is only upset—"

"_Yes he does!_" Elfwine screamed into her chest. "He never talks to Mama, and he makes her cry! It's not right—he's not s-s-_supposed_ to do that—"

Gúthwyn's throat burned with swallowed tears as she rocked him back and forth, whispering soothing words into his ear. Not for the first time, she bitterly regretted Éomer learning the truth about her feud with Lothíriel. She had never intended for Elfwine to be hurt; but now he was afraid of his own home, where he was forced to bear witness to the aftermath of her departure.

Yet as much as she hated herself for causing her nephew pain, she knew that Éomer was even more at fault. No matter how disgusted he was with Lothíriel, it was utterly wrong of him to let those emotions show in front of Elfwine. He ought to have concealed his hatred, tempered his scorn; he could have dropped the façade the instant his son was gone, but not before. Not when this was the result.

"Your parents love you," Gúthwyn said when Elfwine's sobs quieted again. "Do you understand that, Elfwine? Your father loves you, even though he does things that make you upset."

Elfwine sniffled. "But he does not love Mama."

"Oh, little one, I think he loves your mother very much. He has just forgotten it because he is angry with her."

"But when will he remember?" Elfwine asked, his plaintive voice making her heart ache.

She was forced to admit that she did not know. "Yet I think it would help if you told him exactly what you told me."

Elfwine frantically shook his head.

"Why not?"

"I don't want to tell Papa," Elfwine insisted. Tears fell steadily down his cheeks, fat droplets splashing onto his tunic. "Then he will be mad at me like he is with Mama."

"Why do you think that?"

Scowling, Elfwine said, "I just _do_."

Gúthwyn decided not to probe further. "I think your father would want to know if you were feeling unhappy. He would never intentionally do anything to hurt you, so he must not realize why you are upset." Éomer was not so oblivious as to be unaware of Elfwine's suffering; but he had certainly misinterpreted it, attributing his son's sour disposition to Gúthwyn's absence. It reminded her of how dismissive he had been towards her fears of wedding Elphir, mistakenly believing that marriage and exile would help her overcome her past rather than condemn her to a life of misery.

Elfwine gave no response, so she gently nudged his shoulder and asked, "Little one?" He shrugged, still glaring at his folded arms, but his bottom lip was starting to quiver. "Your father will not be angry with you if you tell him what you just told me."

"But I don't _want_ to."

"What if I went with you?"

Elfwine considered her suggestion. "You will stay with me?"

"I will," Gúthwyn promised.

He craned his neck to look hopefully up at her. "Can _you_ tell Papa?"

"It would mean more if you told him. But"—the corners of Elfwine's mouth had turned down—"I will be there with you the whole time."

"Promise?"

"I promise." Ruffling his hair, she added, "We ought to go now, for it is past your bedtime and your father will be wondering where you are."

With no small amount of reluctance, Elfwine slid off the bed and followed her out of the room, his pace growing considerably slower as they neared Éomer's chambers. By the time Gúthwyn knocked on her brother's door, she had a hand placed on her nephew's shoulder to prevent him from bolting.

"There you are," Éomer said in relief when he opened the door. "I was starting to—Elfwine? What is wrong?"

Gúthwyn glanced down and saw her nephew's eyes watering. Tightening her grip enough to remind him that he was not alone, she announced, "Elfwine has something he would like to say to you."

Éomer's quizzical expression darted first to her, then to his son. "And what might that be?"

Elfwine stared up at his father, took several rapid breaths, and burst into tears.

"Little one," Gúthwyn began—but Éomer was faster. He crouched beside his son, forced to prize him away when Elfwine panicked and flung his arms around Gúthwyn's legs.

"What happened?" he asked, bewildered. "Are you hurt?" He looked at Gúthwyn. "Is he hurt?"

"Not physically," Gúthwyn replied. "Little one? Remember how you were going to tell your father what you told me? About home?"

Still bawling, Elfwine shook his head.

"Home?" Éomer echoed. "What about it?"

"_I DON'T WANT TO GO!_" Elfwine screamed, startling even Gúthwyn.

Éomer's brow furrowed. "You do not want to go?"

"I—DON'T—WANT—TO—GO—HOME!"

"Little one—" Gúthwyn began, alarmed by the way her nephew had started gasping for air.

"You do not want to go home?" Éomer repeated. "Why ever not?"

"_B-Because I h-HATE IT_!"

Éomer gave Gúthwyn a questioning look.

Gúthwyn touched Elfwine's shoulder, reinforcing her presence. "Little one, do you remember what you told me about your mother?"

At the mention of Lothíriel, Éomer's eyes turned darker than ink. Gúthwyn gave him a warning glance, but luckily Elfwine's face was buried in his father's leg and he did not notice. "Papa, why are you so mean to her?" the young prince moaned. "I _hate_ it. You're scary when you're mean." He dissolved into tears again, muttering something about "bad words."

Gúthwyn's heart broke all over again as she listened to her nephew weep, and judging by Éomer's sigh he was not unaffected either. Their eyes met over Elfwine's shoulder, and he murmured, "Could you give us a moment?"

Unwillingly, she nodded. As uncomfortable as she was with how her brother had handled the situation so far, she had no right to insist on staying—another reminder that no matter how much she cared for the children in her lives, they were never truly hers. She backed out of the room, softly turning the doorknob behind her. Just before the door closed, she saw Éomer take Elfwine into his arms, whispering something in Rohirric.

To ease her mind, she took a deep breath and walked towards the end of the hall, stopping at a window that overlooked one of Éowyn's gardens. Yet she scarcely noticed the view, so disturbed was she by her nephew's latest outburst. How could Éomer have let things go so far? How could his judgment have sunk so low?

Éomer emerged long after the moment he had asked for, and the circles under his eyes seemed to have grown even more pronounced. He joined her at the window, only reluctantly meeting her gaze. "Thank you for encouraging Elfwine to speak with me."

"Éomer," she began, sighing, but he cut her off.

"I know what you are going to say."

"Do you?" she pressed him. "You clearly were not listening to me before. I told you, Éomer. I told you this could not go on. But your pride—"

"_My_ pride?" he demanded suddenly. "What about _your_ pride? You are content to run away, to roll over and let Lothíriel torment you without consequence—"

"How is it that you have not yet realized that this is not about me?" Gúthwyn hissed, so overcome with fury that she only just remembered to keep her voice down. "Not me, not you, not even Lothíriel—this is about _your_ son, the amazing, smart, beautiful boy that you and your wife brought into this world, who now dreads going home because of _your_ stubbornness! That would be _you_, Éomer, _you_ he is afraid of, not Lothíriel. How could you? How could you be so thoughtless?"

For once, Éomer did not have a ready retort. He stood stock-still as her words rained down upon him, his expression torn between anger and shock.

"This has to stop," she told him. "I care not what it costs you, nor how sick it makes you feel, but you are going to start treating Lothíriel the way you want Elfwine to learn how to treat his future wife. You are going to do this for your son, or you are not half the man I thought you were."

She left him there, moonlight illuminating the lines that had begun to show on a once youthful face.

* * *

><p>The next morning, Cobryn came to wake Gúthwyn for an early breakfast before the guests' departure and was stunned to find her already up.<p>

"Indeed, I never f-fell asleep," she said, yawning. The desk in front of her was strewn with parchment, some of it crumpled up and discarded while the rest—displaying increasingly poor handwriting—was set to the side in a neat stack.

Cobryn's eyes flicked over the rubble. "Dare I ask?"

Gúthwyn had already spent quite some time wondering how her friend would react when she told him about the idea that had struck her just as she was climbing into bed, resulting in an ungainly scramble to throw off her sheets and hasten to her desk lest the inspiration desert her.

"I was writing a story for Elfwine," she began, testing the waters.

"And?" Cobryn had always been able to tell when she was withholding information from him.

"And I am sending it to Lothíriel," she added.

Cobryn blinked at her. "You what?"

Relieved that he had not yet started shouting at her, although that was most likely because he looked too baffled to say much of anything, Gúthwyn did her best to explain. "I wrote it down in Rohirric."

"Which she does not speak."

"Which she is very slowly learning how to speak," Gúthwyn corrected. "Now, friend, imagine yourself in Lothíriel's place." Cobryn snorted. "What would you do if your rival sent you a document written in a language you did not understand, claiming it was a children's story, and furthermore explicitly requesting that you read it to your son in that very same language?"

While she could not help but feel proud of herself for this particular bit of cunning, Cobryn was less than impressed. "I would do nothing until I had translated every last letter in that story," he grudgingly admitted. "So that is your scheme, to teach Lothíriel the language she should have mastered years ago, while at the same time offering her the kind of bonding experience with her son that she is responsible for seeking out on her own? I will never understand what it is that compels you to bend over backwards for this woman—"

"Cobryn," she said; and whether it was something in her voice or her expression, he reluctantly stopped. Gúthwyn then revealed to him what she had witnessed between Éomer and Elfwine the night before, and how she had finally lost her temper with her brother. "As I told Éomer," she finished, "this is not about me. It never was. It has always been about what is best for Elfwine, and that includes his mother not being an outsider in their own home. If that means I have to teach Lothíriel Rohirric myself, then so be it. Yet I think she would prefer reading stories to her son."

While she spoke, Cobryn's expression was inscrutable; but when she was done, he slowly exhaled, and somehow she knew that she had gotten through to him. "Then how can I help?"

Gúthwyn resisted the impulse to hug him. "Could you look through the library to see if there is anything that would be a suitable story? Elfwine's favorites are the ones about heroes and battles."

Cobryn promised he would visit the library later that morning. "But I am not doing this for Lothíriel," he was unable to resist warning her.

"Neither am I," Gúthwyn replied, dipping her quill back into the ink bottle.

* * *

><p>Breakfast was a noisy affair, with servants rushing to and fro and Éomer's men crowding into the tables for one last meal before a long journey home. Gúthwyn kept a close eye on her nephew, who seemed to have calmed down since the previous night yet was still noticeably moody. He picked at his food, and Éomer had to prompt him to finish his toast.<p>

When it was time to say goodbye, Gúthwyn felt a tight pressure around her waist. Elfwine was clinging to her, his lips quivering as he struggled not to cry. "A-Are you _sure_ I can't stay here w-with you and Auntie Éowyn?" he whispered, glancing anxiously at his father. But Éomer was deep in conversation with Gamling, and apart from keeping Elfwine in his sights was not otherwise paying attention. "I promise I'll be really, _really_ nice to El."

"I am sorry, little one," Gúthwyn murmured, watching as her nephew's shoulders slumped. "I know you would be nice to El, but you have not seen your mother in a long time. Besides"—Elfwine was becoming more dejected than ever—"if you do not go home, whom else can I rely upon for a very important errand?"

Elfwine straightened. "An important errand?"

"A _very_ important errand." Kneeling down, she withdrew a thick envelope from the folds of her dress and presented it to Elfwine. "I need you to give this to your mother."

"To Mama?" Elfwine looked uncertainly at her. "What is it?"

"It is a story for her to read to you," Gúthwyn explained. "It is about an oliphaunt who travels around Middle-earth in search of adventure."

Elfwine gasped, his excitement overcoming his reservations. "An oliphaunt?"

"Indeed. But, little one, I wrote the story in our language. Which means that you may need to help your mother read it. Can you do that?"

"I will," Elfwine promised, though he sounded nervous again. "Will Papa be mad at me?"

"I shall speak to your father," Gúthwyn said firmly. "You do not have to worry about him. He will not begrudge you a bedtime story with your mother."

Elfwine looked relieved as he took the envelope. "Is it a long story?" he asked hopefully.

"A medium-long story, so it will be perfect for you and your mother to go through together. Do you have someplace safe to store it? You would not want to lose it on the way home."

Elfwine proposed to use the small pack Éomer had given him. "Can you go tell Papa now?" he pleaded. "Before he sees?"

"Of course." Gúthwyn was careful to keep her tone light, but inwardly she was saddened by her nephew's damaged relationship with his father. She wondered if Éomer had done anything last night to start mending the hurt.

As Elfwine ran off to find his pack, Gúthwyn embarked upon the unpleasant task of informing her brother that she was meddling in his affairs.

"Lady Gúthwyn," Gamling murmured when he saw her approach. He inclined his head, and Gúthwyn smiled back; time, rather than anything else, had served to dispel some of the awkwardness between them. She tried to forget that, in a moment of weakness, she had told him the truth about her years in Mordor.

"Gamling, I trust you will keep the journey home safe for my brother and nephew."

"Your brother, I can handle," Gamling replied with a smirk, "but your nephew… He takes after you, I am afraid."

Éomer snorted at that; but while he normally would have jumped in to tease her, today he remained silent. Either he was still angry from the night before, or he had realized she was right and was too stubborn to admit it.

"Éomer, can I steal you away for a moment?" she inquired.

He agreed, but did not seem overjoyed about the prospect. Nevertheless, after Gamling bowed and excused himself, he was the first to speak.

"Elfwine and I had a long talk after you left," he began, only a slight tightening of his jaw indicating that that she had left on a rather sour note. "I was not aware that he was so… concerned about returning home."

"And were you able to… allay his concerns?"

"I told him that my problems with his mother had nothing to do with him."

Gúthwyn hesitated. Éomer's tone was curt, and he obviously did not want to go into further detail. Although what little he had revealed seemed horrendously inadequate, she decided not to press him. "I gave Elfwine a story that I wrote for him," she said, wondering if Éomer would fly off the handle at her now—in the midst of everyone else preparing to leave—or if he would control himself long enough to drag her off to somewhere private first. "He will have to be careful with it."

Éomer raised his eyebrows. Like Cobryn, he knew that more information lay beneath the surface of her vague words.

Taking a deep breath, Gúthwyn admitted, "I gave it to him so he could read it with Lothíriel."

"You did _what_?"

"I thought it would be nice if they—"

"I know exactly what you were thinking," Éomer snapped. "And it involved you going behind my back—"

"I hardly went behind your back," Gúthwyn protested. "I am telling you right now!"

"Oh, yes, conveniently after you already gave it to him, so there is nothing I can do or say without looking like the bad parent!"

"Éomer," Gúthwyn said, appalled. "Are you really going to forbid Elfwine to read a bedtime story with his mother?"

"That is not the point!" Éomer hissed. "You have completely overstepped your bounds. I know you disagree with the choices I have made, and I will allow that I may not have used the best judgment in the past, but you have no right to interfere the way you have. I am Elfwine's parent, not you, and this is not your family to fix! Perhaps you ought to spend less time worrying about mine, and more time thinking about when you are going to start your own—if in fact such a thing is even possible anymore, considering how long you have put it off!"

Gúthwyn felt as if someone had punched her in the stomach, robbing her of the ability to breathe. She tried to come up with a response, but her ears were ringing and she could barely hear herself think. Worse was the doubt that had seized upon this sudden assault: was Éomer right? Had she tarried too long?

"I am sorry," Éomer muttered after a moment, his voice uncharacteristically gruff. "I should not have said that."

Gúthwyn swallowed. "Which part?" she asked, blinking rapidly lest he see how much his words had affected her. "The part about you and Elfwine not being my family, or the part about me spending the rest of my life childless and alone?"

She did not wait for his answer.

* * *

><p>"Is everything all right?"<p>

Éomer glanced over to see Éowyn approaching, her brow furrowed as she watched Gúthwyn hurry away.

Though the day had just begun, Éomer already felt exhausted. "I lost my temper with her," he admitted. "She did something she should not have, but it did not merit my response." And since he knew Éowyn would not be satisfied until she had the full story, he reluctantly explained what had caused the argument.

When he was done, Éowyn gave him a severe look. "Both of you are in the wrong. And to think Faramir says _I_ am sometimes stubborn… the two of you are even worse!"

"Thank you, sister, for that flattering assessment."

Unabashed, Éowyn replied, "Really, Éomer, does it matter if she gives Elfwine stories to read with Lothíriel?"

"The stories are not the issue," Éomer replied, although part of him—one that he was ashamed of—loathed the idea of Elfwine spending time with Lothíriel and becoming susceptible to her influence. Yet it would be a new low indeed for him to abuse his power by separating the two of them.

_Like you did when you took Elfwine away on a trip that lasted through his birthday?_ a nagging voice reminded him. _You took great pleasure in telling Lothíriel that she would not be coming with you._

Pushing the voice aside, Éomer continued, "The issue is Gúthwyn interfering with my marriage, as if she has the right—"

"But what can she possibly do from here? Even if she sends dozens of stories—and you know she will, if Elfwine so much as says 'please'—it seems that you are not involved in whatever it is she is trying to accomplish with Elfwine and Lothíriel. She can hardly force the two of you to spend time together."

"She is trying to strengthen Elfwine's relationship with Lothíriel," Éomer said through gritted teeth, "and thus guilt me into forgiving her."

"And yet you are the only one who can make that decision, regardless of her wishes. Although even you, Éomer, have to admit that she has a point about treating Lothíriel civilly in front of Elfwine."

"I do not need either of you to tell me how to treat my wife," Éomer growled.

Éowyn's eyes hardened, and as she stepped back from him Éomer saw the disgust reflected in them. "No, I suppose you do not," she agreed coolly. "But in that case, you ought to admit that punishing her—and, by extension, maintaining your pride—is more important to you than Elfwine's wellbeing."

For the second time that morning, Éomer watched one of his sisters walk away from him.


	89. Charades

**A/N:** Just wanted to say a huge thank-you to everyone, as The Lady's War and the Gentleman's Engagement has officially reached over 400 reviews! You guys are amazingly supportive, and I'm continually impressed that you've stuck with this story for so long. Thank you again for your encouragement, enthusiasm, and, of course, corrections! ;)

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Eighty-Nine<strong>

"Thank you, my lords. That will be all for today."

When Lothíriel rose to her feet, the rest of the council followed suit. Some of them splintered off into smaller groups, reverting to Rohirric as they discussed the measures that had just been proposed. Lothíriel tried to catch the gist of their conversations, but the words ran like water through her ears. At least the advisors had seemed to be in favor of her suggestions to improve next year's harvest, although the Valar knew what they were saying now that they did not have to use the Common Tongue.

A shadow crossed her path, and she glanced up to see one of Éomer's oldest councilors approaching. "Aldor. How can I help you?"

"My lady." Aldor inclined his head, though in truth his posture had become rather stooped and lately he always seemed to be half-bowing. "Is this to be your last session with us?"

Lothíriel's smile fixed in place. "Yes, I believe so. Once Éomer returns this afternoon, he will no longer need me to run these meetings." _Or to partake in them, or in fact to have anything to do with them._

Aldor hesitated. "Well, I am sorry to hear that. Your insight has been a great boon to us over this past month. Éomer will be pleased to learn of the progress we have made in planning for the harvest."

_Not if you tell him I had any role in it,_ Lothíriel thought. "Let me know when the surveyors come back, and what they have to report." It was the one thing she had insisted on against the council's will, afraid Éomer might seek to thwart her designs: men had been sent out to the villages of Rohan, bringing her ideas to their leaders and determining whether it would be feasible to implement them, taking into account both logistics and the farmers' experience. They were long gone now, unable to be recalled from their task—or rather, not without significant inconvenience to Éomer. Lothíriel was counting on the advisors, Aldor especially, to reason with him before it came to that.

"I will," Aldor promised with another nod.

"You will have to brief me outside of the council meetings," Lothíriel warned him. She knew he would pick up on the underlying hint regarding Éomer's knowledge of their communications. "I would like to remain informed on this matter."

"Understood."

Once the room was empty, Lothíriel took a deep breath and thought of everything that needed to be done before Éomer's return. She had already gotten the servants started on a full-scale cleaning, and she had ordered the cooks to begin preparing the king's favorite meal—not that Éomer would appreciate the gesture. In fact, it might make him resent her even more, since he would undoubtedly see it as a ploy to get back into his good graces.

_As if I would be so stupid as to think roast boar could solve our problems._

There were a few reports she still needed to review, the last she expected to see for some time; she was determined to examine them thoroughly and provide such feedback as to remind their authors—various members of the council—what she had been able to contribute during her brief tenure as Rohan's leader. While this was unlikely to get Éomer to reconsider her banishment from the meetings, it would not hurt to cultivate goodwill among those who influenced him.

She took lunch in her empty chambers and spent the beginning of the afternoon ensconced in paperwork, pausing every now and then to look up a word. Her decision to run the council sessions exclusively in the Common Tongue had at first been met with resistance, but the advisors soon learned that she prioritized whatever business was documented in Westron—and then they had adjusted accordingly, pragmatism winning over pride. Yet occasionally the translation of a particular term escaped them, and they left it for her to untangle. She usually did, though not without considerable effort.

While she read, she could not help but glance at the letter from her father that had been on her desk ever since its arrival three days ago. Imrahil's tidings were grim: when Amrothos was not desperately seeking any drink he could get his hands on, he had taken to barricading himself in his room for days at a time, the curtains drawn and his meals left untouched. He would emerge reeking of his own filth, delirious from hunger; most of his servants only lasted a month before quitting.

The situation, Imrahil admitted, was utterly out of his control. Amrothos's erratic behavior was no longer an open secret of the court; it was full public knowledge, with everyone from shopkeepers to fishermen weighing in on the latest sordid tale about their tosspot prince. Worse, Amrothos had proven resistant to every attempt at intervention, and his mood had become increasingly fey. It was a mark of how frightened Imrahil was that he had all but begged Lothíriel to come home. _The two of you have always been close—perhaps you can get through to him where no one else has. I fear what may happen if he continues on this path._

Unfortunately for all of them, Lothíriel's return to Dol Amroth hinged upon the goodwill of a man who hated both her and Amrothos. She intended to try, but she had few hopes.

"My lady?"

Lothíriel looked up to see one of the maids at the door—Cwene, whose face seemed set in a permanent frown. She was one of Gúthwyn's, and remained loyal to her mistress.

"Yes?" Lothíriel inquired, declining to engage in small talk.

"They have reached the city."

Lothíriel's heart did a very strange thing: it skipped several beats at the thought of reuniting with her son, then stopped altogether as she imagined how Éomer's expression would darken when he saw her.

Suddenly feeling lightheaded, she gave a curt nod to Cwene. "I will be out in a moment."

Cwene did not require further encouragement to leave. Only when Lothíriel could no longer hear her in the corridor did she take several deep breaths, wondering how much Éomer's anger had increased since she had last seen him, now that he and Elfwine had been forced to say farewell to Gúthwyn a second time.

Unless... Lothíriel's pulse quickened.

Unless Gúthwyn had returned to Rohan.

She felt sick at the thought. What were the odds? Éomer had not mentioned anything, had not sent so much as a letter in his absence—but then, Lothíriel had discovered that her husband possessed a startling capacity for cruelty, and springing this upon her at unawares was something he would delight in doing. Surely he had done his best to convince Gúthwyn to come back home, and Gúthwyn would have been well-disposed to listen. After all, she had never said how long she was going to stay with her sister, and a year away from home must have made her reconsider whatever noble, self-sacrificing idiocy had prompted her to leave in the first place. Especially considering her dislike of Faramir, for reasons Lothíriel could not even begin to fathom.

So that was it, then. Just when she had started getting used to Elfwine's company, now he would be devoted exclusively to his aunt once more, and Lothíriel would have to rely on the other woman's pity for any time alone with her son.

Fearing the worst, she rose to her feet and walked as if in a trance out of her chambers, down the hall, and through the vacant throne room. Her footsteps echoed across the floor, and the smoke from the hearth filled her lungs, suffocating her. The servants were already outside; Lothíriel would be the last to arrive. Éomer would scan the steps for her, and her absence would set a spark to the smoldering embers of hatred…

Summer had finally come to the plains, but she was shivering when she emerged onto the landing, and the wind from the mountains had lost none of its bite. Soon her cheeks were stinging, and too late she realized she had forgotten her light cloak. _Well, there is no going back for it now,_ she thought, glancing up at the sky. It was a bright enough blue to match the sea, but the sun felt weak and brought little warmth to the city. She turned her gaze downward to the throngs in the street, conversing excitedly with one another in their harsh tongue; every now and then she saw a pale face looking up at her, wondering about the solitary figure.

Distant cheers rose up, carried to her by the wind. She could see the horses now, kicking up clouds of dust as they climbed the winding street, and the green banners held proudly aloft. Craning her neck in a breathless search for Gúthwyn, Lothíriel's heart swelled with relief when the only dark hair she saw was that which belonged to her son. From his secure position in Éomer's arms, Elfwine waved eagerly at everyone in sight, the tiniest golden coronet glittering atop his head. She knew from experience how much difficulty Éomer must have had convincing him to wear it.

Éomer… Her husband was murmuring something into Elfwine's ear, his gaze fixed on their son, but she could tell from the tension in his shoulders that he had already seen her. She briefly considered returning inside, then squared her shoulders. She would not retreat.

The procession was drawing closer, and some of the servants were beginning to stare at her from the corners of their eyes: all were curious to see how the estranged king and queen would react to one another's presence after such a long separation. Lothíriel herself had no idea what to expect: the nature of their reunion was utterly dependent on Éomer's mercy, or lack thereof. She could only hope he would not be so callous as to snub her in front of the entire city, thus setting a dangerous precedent for how his subjects treated her, though he had no such scruples when it came to Elfwine.

And so she waited, holding her breath until she realized what she was doing, then exhaling and starting the process all over again. The street below her began to clear as people caught wind of the riders' approach; she wondered how many of them were here to greet the king, and how many of them were just hoping for some drama with the queen. By now, the men were close enough for her to hear the horses' hooves drumming against the earth—an ominous _doom-doom_, _doom-doom_ that was audible even over the civilians' cheers. She tried to study Éomer's face, but was met with a closed book.

"Mama!"

Her gaze dropped to Elfwine, who had spotted her and was waving. A small smile tugged at her lips, and she was surprised to discover a lump in her throat as she waved back. Had he grown even taller since she had last seen him? Or was he merely sitting straighter, proud to carry the wooden sword she had just noticed at his side?

Knowing that it was her duty to greet her husband, no matter what he might say in response, Lothíriel began her descent just as the riders reached the stairs. Éomer instantly occupied himself with helping Elfwine off the horse, but Lothíriel merely adjusted her pace so that she joined them when they were both on the ground—and Éomer had no choice but to look over at her.

"Husband." She forced a welcoming smile, praying that something, anything, might have changed.

Éomer glanced down at Elfwine, who had wrapped his arms around Lothíriel's legs and was looking anxiously between the two of them. Lothíriel swallowed, wondering if she would be able to maintain a one-sided conversation for her son's sake, making a fool of herself in a desperate attempt at normalcy.

Finally, Éomer met her gaze again. His jaw tightened, the only outward sign of the effort it cost him to smile back and say politely, "Wife. It is good to see you again."

Lothíriel tried not to flinch. His voice may have been pleasant, but his eyes told her the truth—and it was as far from his words as possible.

_For Elfwine,_ she reminded herself. Taking a deep breath—it was her turn now—she said, "I trust you had a safe journey."

They both saw the cautious hope forming in Elfwine's features.

"It was." Éomer's hand, the one hidden from their son's view, closed into a fist. The pretense was trying every last ounce of his patience. "Elfwine has much to tell you."

And while Lothíriel knew what that meant—Éomer had no desire to speak with her any longer than was absolutely necessary—to Elfwine it was a success: his parents had been glad to see each other, and no one had started shouting. He could now divert his attention to other matters. "Mama, why are you so cold? Do you want my cloak?"

"Thank you, Elfwine, but I am quite warm," Lothíriel lied. She was not quite sure why she withheld the truth; yet suddenly it seemed as if admitting to any discomfort in front of Éomer would be a sign of weakness, something that might be twisted and used against her. Such infirmities were Gúthwyn's lot, not hers.

But Éomer's eyes took in the tremors she could not quite suppress, the goosebumps that had formed wherever she was not covered by her gown. For a moment, his mouth quirked in amusement; then he remembered himself, and stiffly removed his own cloak. Lothíriel thought he would hand it to her, and was surprised when he walked behind her to place the garment on her shoulders. She reached up to take the strings, but their hands did not meet—Éomer stepped away just in time. The heat from his palms lingered on her shoulders, as did the warmth from his breath on her neck. In spite of this, or perhaps because of it, she found herself shivering even more.

"Thank you," she remembered to say.

Éomer nodded, yet he was no longer looking at her—his face was turned upwards, towards Meduseld. Lothíriel followed his gaze, but was distracted by the servants. They were whispering among themselves, obviously trying to decode this latest incident. Lothíriel felt a powerful rush of hatred for each and every one of them.

"Well," she said, collecting herself, "shall we go inside? I have—the cooks have prepared dinner. I thought you might prefer to retire early."

Éomer glanced back at her, seeming disappointed that she was still there. "Elfwine, are you hungry?"

"I am _so_ hungry!" Elfwine slumped against Lothíriel as if he were about to perish of famine, though Lothíriel knew for a fact that he almost never went for more than two hours without having at least a snack. "Can we eat now, please?"

"You two go ahead." Éomer turned away from them, away from Meduseld. "I have something to discuss with Gamling."

"But—" Elfwine bit his lip. "Can you come back and eat dinner with us, Papa? Once you and Gamling are done?"

After committing the tactical error of making eye contact, Éomer sighed and nodded. It was only when Elfwine beamed with excitement, however, that he was at last ensnared; for Lothíriel knew that, regardless of his feelings for her, Éomer could not bear to disappoint their son. He wanted to be the hero, not the villain—that was his wife's role, and the lines were not allowed to blur. He had too great an opinion of himself for such moral greyness.

Once, she might have conspired to use that information against him. But now, all she felt was tired.

"Come, Elfwine," she said after Éomer had left. "Let us go up, and you can tell me all about your cousin Elboron."

"His name is El now," Elfwine corrected her. "Me and Auntie Gúthwyn decided."

Lothíriel closed her eyes. One minute: that was how long it had taken him to remind her that there was another, more important woman in his life.

"Auntie Gúthwyn gave me something for you."

Her eyes flew open. "What?"

"It is a story!" Excited now, Elfwine unslung his small pack from his shoulders, then knelt down and started emptying its contents onto the road.

"I am sure it can wait until we get inside," Lothíriel said, cringing when his tunics landed in the dirt.

Elfwine ignored her until he found what he was searching for, which was only after everything else he had brought to Ithilien was scattered at his feet. "Got it!" he cried, brandishing an envelope that looked rather the worse for wear. "Auntie Gúthwyn says you can read it to me."

Lothíriel took the letter and examined it. On the outside, there was nothing amiss: her name was written in what she recognized as her rival's hand, though the penmanship suggested either haste or carelessness. And the Valar knew what was on the inside.

"Why did she not read it to you herself?" Lothíriel inquired, only partially addressing Elfwine.

"She said _you_ can read it, and I can help you. Can we read it tonight? Please?"

Wondering what sort of game Gúthwyn was playing, Lothíriel tucked away the letter and resolved to deal with it later. "If there is time after dinner," she said, "then we shall see."

* * *

><p>Lothíriel was stunned when Éomer was only half an hour late for dinner, and moreover actually engaged her in (stilted, clearly for Elfwine's benefit) conversation about the trip. Elfwine was thrilled by this turn of events, and became so animated as a result that he wound up doing all the talking anyway.<p>

"Mama, Leggy gave me the best toy! It is an Elf, but a girl Elf, because Leggy says they can fight even though they don't do it as much. I am going to call her Onyveth, and she will command the Elves with Leggy. Did you know that Elves never close their eyes when they sleep? Leggy told me. He said Elves always stay up past their bedtime. And Auntie Gúthwyn said—"

Lothíriel heard an audible gulp as Elfwine broke off, then glanced quickly between his parents. She noticed that he inched away from Éomer, who had stiffened at the mention of his sister's name. Yet Éomer was not looking at Elfwine: his gaze had found Lothíriel's, a silent challenge in them, a dare for her to take offense.

_Oh, Éomer,_ she thought, almost pitying him. _Do you really think this is a battle you can charge into headfirst, like you once did at the Pelennor Fields? Do you not know your opponent at all?_

As if his glare had troubled her no more than a buzzing fly, she turned to Elfwine and asked calmly, "What did Auntie Gúthwyn say about the Elves?"

"Well..." Elfwine drew the word out as long as he could, his eyes darting in any direction that might bring him support. Finally, he said in a rush, "She told me it's true and she knows because she and Legolas traveled together but she didn't say why—"

"Elfwine, did you show your mother the toy Legolas gave you?" Éomer interrupted. Lothíriel saw the muscles in his forearm tightening as he gripped his fork.

Elfwine was thrown off by the abrupt change of subject, and it was a moment before he could reorient himself. "No, I put Onyveth with Leggy and the other Elves so they could plan their next attack."

"You should bring—Onyveth out, then. I am sure your mother would like to see her."

Elfwine glanced down at his food, which he had not yet finished, and then back up at Éomer. Still confused, he murmured, "Yes, Papa," and slid from the bench.

A terse silence fell in his wake. Lothíriel listened to her son's footsteps as long as she could, knowing that now was not the time to mention Amrothos, not when Éomer had wound himself up in defense of his sister. He was expecting her to ask about the travels Elfwine had mentioned, to insinuate that something untoward had transpired between Gúthwyn and Legolas. And indeed, Lothíriel was almost tempted to inquire—though not about the past, and not because she thought the Elf had fallen prey to Gúthwyn's dubious charms. For one thing, Elves did not conduct themselves like Men; Legolas was too noble for such dishonor. For another, Lothíriel vividly remembered how pale-faced and jittery Gúthwyn had once been in his presence, as she had spent quite some time puzzling over this behavior.

Yet it could not be denied that a recent shift in their relationship had occurred, that sometime within the past few years (or perhaps sooner—Lothíriel was surprised by how long it had taken her to notice) Legolas's attentions to Gúthwyn had surpassed anything that could be explained by mere friendliness. Éomer, whose senses were always heightened when it came to his sister's marriage prospects, had once speculated frequently on the matter; and while he no longer confided in Lothíriel, she knew he was still wondering.

She was curious as to whether he had discovered any new developments in his trip to Emyn Arnen, yet there was no way of posing the question that would not incite his wrath. He would think she was digging for information, searching for anything that might be used as a weapon. In truth, however, Lothíriel was simply baffled by Legolas's interest in Gúthwyn. She could not imagine what an Elven prince would want from a disgraced woman with no prospects, little education, and two bastard children to boot. To say nothing of the skeleton she substituted for a figure.

But, of course, as she had so often been reminded, everyone loved Gúthwyn.

It was fortunate Elfwine returned when he did: once Éomer realized that she would not rise to his bait, that she would not offer herself up for his ridicule and censure, his irritation grew until there was a palpable tension in the air. Lothíriel was quite glad to hear their son's footsteps, and then to see him run back into the room clutching his newest toy.

"See?" he said, thrusting it before Lothíriel. "She has a bow and a sword."

"Very nice," Lothíriel replied, though she was more impressed by the craftsmanship. Legolas had carved a variety of soldiers for Elfwine over the years, each of them more intricate than the last. She squinted at the warrior's bow, noting the tiniest leaf designs etched into the wood.

"Papa, look," Elfwine urged.

Éomer gave him a weary smile. "You have showed me Onyveth before, remember? I said she reminded me of your aunts."

"Oh. Right." Unperturbed, Elfwine produced another Elven warrior and began to act out a duel at the table. "Auntie Éowyn killed a big monster," he said to no one in particular.

* * *

><p>Éomer retired not long after, citing exhaustion from the long journey and even throwing in a fake yawn for good measure. Lothíriel let him kiss her on the cheek, his lips cool and hard against her skin, and surprised herself by wanting to recoil from this foreign touch. Only for Elfwine's sake did she endure it.<p>

Indeed, when they pulled apart, Elfwine was practically quivering with delight, and he said not a word of complaint when Lothíriel told him it was time for bed. He skipped ahead of her to their chambers, and changed into his nightclothes with a minimal amount of procrastination. "Can we read the story now?" he asked, gazing hopefully up at her from his bed. It was the kind of expression that Gúthwyn would never have been able to resist.

"Not tonight, Elfwine," she told him, because she was not Gúthwyn; and because Gúthwyn, who was over a hundred leagues away in the middle of a forest in Emyn Arnen, had somehow managed to become involved in her affairs yet again, and Lothíriel hated her for that. It was like a poisonous leech had latched onto her and was determined to never let go, not until it had drained everything out of her and perhaps not even then.

Elfwine drooped a little, but appeared not to want to press his luck. "Maybe tomorrow," he said, more to himself than to her, and Lothíriel sighed as she heard herself agreeing to read the story tomorrow.

At least Elfwine was cheered by that, and he burrowed under the covers with a small battalion of Elvish warriors, muttering something about archery lessons. Lothíriel settled herself at her desk and took the opportunity to open Gúthwyn's letter. Without so much as an insincere greeting, her rival had written:

_I have enclosed a story that I wrote for Elfwine. I had hoped to tell it to him myself, but we did not have enough time. Since Éomer will be even busier than usual as winter approaches—_

"And I am just sitting around twiddling my thumbs!" Lothíriel muttered.

—_I thought you might read it to him, as I do not know when we will next see each other again. I hope you will read it to him in Rohirric_ ("in Rohirric" had been pressed firmly into the parchment, with a mark nearby suggesting that Gúthwyn had intended to underline the phrase before, presumably, realizing how obnoxious it would be)_, as the story will sound better in its original language. Elfwine has promised to help you with the more difficult words._

_Thank you, Gúthwyn_

Lothíriel stared down at the letter in disbelief, then flipped through the attached pages to confirm that everything had been written in Rohirric. _What does she think I am, an idiot?_ she thought in equal parts amazement and disgust. Or perhaps Gúthwyn was actually so stupid as to believe Lothíriel would blindly read aloud something her rival had written in a foreign language. _Elfwine has promised to help you with the more difficult words_—could she have possibly been any more patronizing?

It was, without a doubt, the clumsiest attempt at sabotage Lothíriel had seen. She almost laughed at the sheer absurdity of it. Like as not, once Lothíriel translated the text she would uncover some sort of message, some moral to the story that cast her in a bad light. Though, come to think of it, that required far more cleverness than Lothíriel would have ever given Gúthwyn credit for.

_Then what on Middle-earth is she trying to accomplish?_ If Gúthwyn's aim was not to manipulate, why would she give Lothíriel the story? Did she hope to create panic, to intimidate her with the Rohirric text? To have her make a fool of herself in front of Elfwine, since she would undoubtedly bungle the pronunciation of half the words? None of it made any sense. Either she had somehow acquired a great deal of cunning, but not nearly enough; or she had another purpose, an underlying motive Lothíriel could not even begin to guess at.

Only one thing was certain: she had no choice but to set about translating the entire story.


	90. Lost in Translation

**Chapter Ninety**

The following morning passed by so slowly that time seemed to be moving backwards, not forwards. Lothíriel plodded through Gúthwyn's story, translating it one sentence at a time, often having to look up individual words or finer points of Rohirric grammar before she could make sense of what she was reading. So far, all she had uncovered was a rather simple tale about an oliphaunt leaving its home in Harad to seek adventure elsewhere in Middle-earth—nothing about doting aunts or evil mothers.

She was quite glad for an excuse to have lunch, which presented itself when Elfwine finished his lessons and burst into her room declaring that he was _famished_, that he needed something to eat _right now_, and would she _please_ hurry up so they could get some food?

They went to the great hall, where Elfwine promptly devoured the bread and stew that were set in front of him and then asked for seconds. Lothíriel ate at a more dignified pace, unable to resist glancing over every couple of minutes to where Éomer was sitting. He and his advisors had opted to continue working through lunch, and had spread their papers and charts over a table in the far corner of the room. They were deep in discussion, and a couple of times Lothíriel thought she heard mention of the harvest. Whenever this happened, she turned away, not wanting Éomer to become irritated if he saw her watching. The last thing she needed was to give him another reason to disapprove of her plans, which the council was no doubt filling him in on at this very moment.

"Mama, can we go to the archery range?" Elfwine asked when he was done, and there was a thick layer of breadcrumbs on the table in front of him.

"Why do you want to go there?"

"Because…" Elfwine paused, like he always did before saying something he knew his parents would disapprove of, and shot her an impish grin. "Because I want to practice?"

"Has your father said that you are allowed to practice without an instructor?" Lothíriel asked, knowing Éomer would have done no such thing.

"Well… no, but Leggy said I would get better if I practiced, so I _have_ to practice."

"And you will, once your father finds an instructor," Lothíriel replied. "But until then, it is not safe for you to be handling a weapon on your own." Elfwine looked morose, so she added, "We can go and watch the men, if you would like. Perhaps you can learn some techniques by observing them."

Elfwine cheered up at this, though of course it meant that they had to go _right this instant_, so less than ten minutes later they were walking down the main road towards the archery range. Elfwine waved to everyone they passed, but few of those who returned the greeting were willing to meet Lothíriel's gaze. She thought she heard one of them muttering Gúthwyn's name.

At least Éomer's men knew to keep their mouths shut around her, so all she had to deal with at the archery range was the obvious discomfort her arrival caused. Elfwine did not notice; he had spotted Erkenbrand watching the warriors, and quickly began peppering him with questions about their training. As they were all in Rohirric, Lothíriel soon lost the thread of their conversation, and she spent the rest of the time wondering about Gúthwyn's story.

Eventually she managed to coax Elfwine back to Meduseld, where he occupied himself by using his wooden soldiers to reenact what he had seen at the archery range. Lothíriel resumed her translation, growing increasingly frustrated when her work turned up nothing that might hint at Gúthwyn's intentions. It was almost as if she had actually given Lothíriel a children's story for no other purpose than to have her read it with Elfwine, which was completely absurd. There had to be something she was missing.

"Mama, Onyveth and Leggy and Papa are going to fight the Orcs in the throne room," Elfwine announced.

"All right, but no going outside without permission," Lothíriel warned him. A couple of months ago, Elfwine had decided that "Leggy" and "Papa" were going to "rescue" the horses from the stable. Fortunately, by the time he was discovered he had only managed to free Firefoot, who had the good sense not to bolt from his stall at the urging of a child.

Elfwine nodded, which meant next to nothing, and slipped off to undoubtedly wreak havoc. Lothíriel briefly wondered if he were getting too old to be playing so frequently with his dolls—should he not have been outside with other children his age?—before resuming her work, bent on finding something to confirm her suspicions. She hated not knowing an opponent's strategy, being forced to guess at their goal whenever they made a move. Gúthwyn normally had all the subtlety of a charging _éored_, so what on Middle-earth was she doing now?

She was alone for over an hour, and in that time the room had gone so quiet—save for the faint scratching of her quill against the parchment—that she was thoroughly startled by a knock at the door. Since Elfwine always barged in without a warning, and the maids prefaced their entrances with a polite "My lady?", she knew instantly who it was. Her heart pounding, she stashed every piece of parchment into the nearest desk drawer, then took a deep breath and called, "Come in."

Éomer opened the door, his presence filling the room with shadow where before he had brought only light. His dark eyes flicked around the room they had once shared, then came back to rest on her. "Has Elfwine settled in?" he inquired, surprising her—and, she thought, himself.

"Yes, he has." Wondering how long his tolerance for extraneous conversation would last, she ventured, "And yourself?"

Éomer nodded, but did not elaborate. A long stretch of silence expanded between them before he sad, "The council informed me of your plans for the harvest."

Lothíriel kept her face as blank as possible. "I hope they were to your satisfaction."

"Oh?" Éomer raised his eyebrows. "I had not thought my approval necessary, seeing as how the messengers are well on their way to their destinations by now."

She considered a number of responses, discarded them all, and elected to remain quiet. Éomer could not harbor silence when he had a point to press, so it was not long before he spoke again—haltingly, as if each word cost him an immeasurable amount of pain. "They were good ideas."

"They were?" Lothíriel could have kicked herself for that pathetic response. Of course they were good ideas, otherwise she would not have wasted anyone's time with them. She did not need Éomer to validate her intelligence.

Yet she felt a low thrill of satisfaction when Éomer nodded. "They were. I—Aldor believes they will help."

Lothíriel was not fooled: it was clear that he had only mentioned Aldor to keep what little peace of mind he needed to get through this conversation, to find a way to acknowledge her work without having to actually compliment her himself. He seemed to think he had said too much, for a few seconds later he nodded and began to edge out of the room.

"I had a letter from my father."

Éomer stopped, his hand still on the doorknob, and looked back at her. Lothíriel regretted having spoken—she knew Éomer better than to think that a moment of impasse would soften him to the request she was about to make. But it had to be done, sooner or later, and at least now she could operate on what little good will she had accumulated from his faint praise. And yet, she understood with a sinking heart, it would not be nearly enough.

"My brother is very ill," she forced herself to say.

Éomer's eyes narrowed. "Which one?"

He already knew; he just wanted her to say it.

"Amrothos."

"How unfortunate," Éomer said coldly.

"My father has asked me to return to Dol Amroth," Lothíriel forged on, feeling more reckless than brave. "He thinks—"

"Absolutely not."

Lothíriel had expected this, had foreseen the anger leaping into his eyes; she would have been shocked if he had reacted any differently; but still she had to brace herself against the despair his pronouncement had wrought within her. "Éomer, this is important," she urged him, though deep down she knew she was wasting her time. "I would only be gone for a couple of months, and most of that would be traveling. I could spend just a week with my family—"

"You selfish, despicable woman," Éomer spat, stunning her into silence. "Your son—your _family_—just returned to you after a month's absence, and already you want to abandon him as you go gallivanting off on personal errands?"

Hot anger coursed through her veins, which suddenly felt too constricted to accommodate her fury. "_Personal errands_?" she hissed. "Is that what we are to call visiting loved ones on their sickbed? Oh, yes, Éomer, the height of selfishness! As if you even care about Elfwine being separated from his mother, when you were the one who _gallivanted_ off with him for over a month! You took my son away from me and you _dare_ to imply—"

"That was different!" Éomer insisted, his face reddening. "Éowyn just had a child—"

"Yes, it is almost as if one ought to visit their family on certain occasions! Or does that only apply to your family, and damn whatever happens to mine?"

Éomer swiftly changed tack. "If you are so distraught over Elfwine being 'taken' from you, never mind the fact that it is your own fault you are no longer welcome in Emyn Arnen, then surely you would prioritize nothing over your long-awaited time with him!"

"I do no such thing," Lothíriel retorted. "Moreover, I see no reason why I cannot attend to both my brother and my son. I am sure Elfwine would love Dol Amroth, if he could travel with me."

In one rapid motion, Éomer stepped back into the room and slammed the door shut. "Have you gone mad?" he demanded, striding over to her. In an instant, Lothíriel's senses were completely filled with him: his blackened eyes boring into hers, the achingly familiar scent of musk and leather, the realization that he could snap her neck with his calloused hands and she would have no way of defending herself.

The latter seemed to have occurred to Éomer as well; she heard his breath catch in his throat, and for a moment he stared at her as if he did not know whether he wanted to kiss her or kill her. Then something shifted, an indiscernible point of balance that tipped within his gaze, and she found herself wanting to back away. "If you think," he growled, "that I am going to let you exercise your poisonous influence over him, unchecked and unopposed, you are more delusional than I would have guessed. After months of whispering in his ear, you would bring back a son I did not recognize."

"I am not Gríma Wormtongue," Lothíriel replied sharply. "And you do not give Elfwine enough credit."

"You fooled me for six years of marriage!" Éomer exploded. He made a violent motion as if to grab her by the arm, but stopped himself at the last second. "Everything I thought I knew about you was lie. Everything I loved—" Lothíriel's stomach contracted— "it was only because I was too blind to see the monster you really were. And if a grown man can be so easily ensnared, then what chance would a young boy stand against his mother? You would ruin him!"

"You think so little of me," Lothíriel whispered.

Éomer did not deign to respond. "It is out of the question. He is not going. Neither of you are."

"Amrothos is—"

"Amrothos can die, for all I care," Éomer savagely cut her off. "It would be the best thing he has done since he left Rohan."

"He is my brother—"

"And Gúthwyn was your sister, but you did everything in your power to torment and humiliate her! She who welcomed you into her home, who bore your insults with silence rather than cause me pain—and you arranged to have her raped by your disgusting filth of a brother! Have you no shame? You speak to me of family and duty when you know nothing but self-interest and sabotage. You sicken me!"

Lothíriel did not have it in her to respond, which irritated Éomer even further. "If I do not leave now," he ground out, pulling himself away from her, "I will do something I regret." Visibly struggling to maintain control, he added, "I will say only this: you and Gúthwyn have a lot more in common than you think. By all rights, you should have been friends. But you never gave her a chance."

"And you never gave me one. Not when it came to her." As if it were not enough that Éomer would drop everything, including her, and rush to Gúthwyn's side when his _baby_ sister so much as sneezed, then there was the fact that he had refused to tell Lothíriel anything about her, as if she were not family enough to be privy to such information. Worse, he had lied to her father, letting her brother walk into a sham of a betrothal when he knew full well that Gúthwyn was not the innocent virgin she was pretending to be—not that he had ever confided in Lothíriel, of course.

Éomer stared at her, his features rippling with disbelief. "I do not even want to know how you managed to twist your memory enough to justify that."

He turned away and pushed the door open with such force that Lothíriel thought it would rip off the hinges. Then she heard a wail, as familiar to her as her own heartbeat, and Éomer's horrified cry of "Elfwine!"

She was out of the room before she had even registered her legs moving beneath her. Elfwine lay several feet from the door, bawling, a thin stream of blood trickling down his forehead. She saw at a glance that he was more frightened than injured, but the knot in her stomach eased only a little: it might have been far worse.

Éomer knelt beside him, his eyes still wide with shock, and attempted to stem the bleeding. Elfwine shoved his hand away and shrieked, "I _hate_ you! You said you were going to be nice to Mama and you lied!"

"Elfwine—" Éomer tried again to press his sleeve against the cut.

"Let go of me!"

"Elfwine," Lothíriel began, reaching out with her own sleeve, "you are bleeding—"

She was expecting him to reject her, too, but to her astonishment he scrambled to his knees and flung himself at her. Caught off-guard, she clumsily wrapped her arms around him, not daring to look at Éomer. "You should go," was all she said.

Éomer hovered for a few seconds, trying to figure out how to undo the damage he had caused. Yet eventually he stood, and after one futile effort to apologize to Elfwine ("Go _away_!") he departed from the corridor.

"All right, Elfwine," Lothíriel said wearily. "Let us get you cleaned up."

Elfwine allowed himself to be herded into their room, rubbing his eyes on his own sleeve while she attempted to fuss over him with hers. "Did I make Papa mad at you?" he asked as she sat him down in her desk chair.

"No, of course not. Why would you think that?" Lothíriel finally found a clean cloth and started attending to the cut, relieved to see that it was already clotting.

"Because I gave you Auntie Gúthwyn's story." Elfwine sounded nothing short of miserable. "And Papa didn't like it, even though he said he did."

"We were not fighting about that," Lothíriel assured him. "None of this is your fault, Elfwine. I do not want you thinking otherwise. And your father never meant to hurt you—he did not know you were standing behind the door. I know he is very upset with himself right now."

Elfwine swallowed. "Then what were you fighting about?"

"Other things." At least she and Éomer were in agreement on one matter: Elfwine did not need to be dragged any further into their marital problems.

"What things?"

"Grown-up things, which it would not do for you to worry about."

"But—"

"But nothing. You must concentrate on your studies and your sword lessons."

Elfwine sighed, then tried to rub at his cut. Lothíriel deflected his hand just in time. "Can we read Auntie Gúthwyn's story now, please?"

Lothíriel had not yet finished her translation—she still had more than half the tale to go—but with Elfwine sniffling and looking quite morose indeed, she did not think she could bring herself to refuse him. "We can read some of it," she agreed as Elfwine's lips wobbled, "but we will save the rest for another day."

"Okay… Can we use my bed? Yours is too big."

_Too big indeed,_ Lothíriel thought sadly. "Your bed it is."

They arranged themselves on the small mattress, Lothíriel crammed against the headboard with Elfwine curled up beside her. His weight against her side was unfamiliar; she did not know what to do with it, whether she could shift without disturbing him. She therefore kept her left arm as still as possible, trying to ignore the tingling she felt when it became numb.

"Osric the Oliphaunt," she began in her slow, halting Rohirric, and paused. What had Gúthwyn meant by sending this to her? And why had she insisted on Lothíriel reading it in this language? Was there a hidden message lurking within these strange words, one that had escaped Lothíriel's notice but would be understood by Elfwine in an instant?

"Do you need help, Mama?" Elfwine craned his neck to look up at her. "That one's not hard, it's 'was.'" He pointed to the first word after _oliphaunt_ and started reading in Rohirric. "Osric the Oliphaunt was a young oliphaunt who lived in Harad'—that's where oliphaunts are from, Papa told me—'with his family.' See?" Switching back to the Common Tongue, he added, "It's easy. You try."

Hardly able to believe her son was teaching her how to read, even if in a foreign language, Lothíriel took a deep breath and dutifully reread the passage—and then the next one, and then the next. Her attempt to translate the story, though failing to reveal Gúthwyn's designs, had at least told her what everything meant, so she had a rough idea of how to inflect each sentence. But the pronunciation of most words remained quite beyond her, and it was there that Elfwine had to step in.

"You say it like _horse_, see? I'll say it first, and you can try again after me."

Lothíriel's eyes blurred at that; fortunately, Elfwine was too occupied with the text to notice. It briefly crossed her mind that perhaps this was what Gúthwyn had wanted—that maybe her only ulterior motive had been to give Lothíriel this experience with Elfwine, who was so patient, so wonderful, it almost hurt to bear it—but she rid herself of the notion. Why would Gúthwyn want to help Lothíriel with so much as a heavy laundry basket, let alone her relationship with Elfwine? There was no logic to it; if their roles had been switched, Lothíriel would certainly not have done the same.

_Enough,_ she scolded herself. Casting aside all thoughts of the other woman, Lothíriel focused on the page in front of her and resolved to enjoy this moment with her son—no matter how it had come about.


	91. Restraint

**Chapter Ninety-One**

Either Éomer had a change of heart, or for the sake of peace was willing to pretend he had, for less than a month after his departure Gúthwyn received a letter from him saying that Elfwine had very much enjoyed the story and was eager for more (if she did not mind).

It was not quite an apology, but "then again, I suppose I deserved some of his censure," Gúthwyn remarked to Cobryn, sighing. The two of them were out on the porch, sitting at a table whose surface was scarcely visible beneath a thick layer of reading and writing materials. Cobryn was working his way through his usual stack of books, while Gúthwyn was busy translating a new story for Elfwine.

Cobryn shrugged. "Well, you were meddling, and you did wait to tell him until the meddling was mostly complete. Though he should not have said what he did."

Gúthwyn glanced worriedly over at Haiweth, who had accompanied them out to the porch, but Haiweth did not appear to have heard. She was bent over one of Gúthwyn's pages, using the blank space at the top to illustrate a scene from the story. While there were no dresses involved, she seemed absorbed in the task, and time with either of the children was so rare these days that Gúthwyn was grateful for whatever form it took.

"As long as I can continue sending stories to Elfwine," she answered Cobryn, "it is water under the bridge."

"Which one is this?" Cobryn inquired, gesturing towards the parchment. "The Fell Winter?" He had recently found some accounts describing the wolves that roamed the Shire during one of the longest winters in memory, which he had given to Gúthwyn: wolves were sure to be exciting to any six-year-old.

"Not yet. That is next on my list," Gúthwyn replied. "This one is about Fingon's rescue of Maedhros."

"Who?" Haiweth asked, the same time as Cobryn echoed, "Fingon's rescue of Maedhros? Where did you learn about that?"

"Fingon and Maedhros were two Elves who lived many years ago," Gúthwyn explained to Haiweth. "Maedhros was captured by Morgoth, who was the Enemy long before Sauron, and though their houses were divided Fingon risked everything to save him." She decided not to go into further detail, as Haiweth had visibly lost interest after the mention of Elves. "Cobryn, the story is from—" She paused, her cheeks heating. "It is from Legolas."

Haiweth's quill stopped scratching against the parchment.

"I see." Cobryn's expression was too neutral for her liking. "Did he tell it to you when you visited the colony?"

"No." By now, Gúthwyn was convinced that the glow from her blush could have been seen all the way from Minas Tirith. "Elfwine has always enjoyed his stories, so I wrote to him asking if he had any suggestions. And he was kind enough to oblige me."

"Of course."

Gúthwyn glanced at her friend, wondering if there was more to that comment than his bland tone had implied. If so, she could not imagine the meaning behind it… at least, she hoped she could not. Deciding ignorance was bliss, she turned her attention back to her sheaf of parchment.

_Fingon glanced up and saw Maedhros dangling from the peaks of Thangorodrim,_ she wrote, _attached to the face of the mountain by a single chain around his wrist, looking half-dead beneath the harsh sun…_

* * *

><p>She was still thinking about Fingon and Maedhros some months later, as the air turned cooler and the forest floor became thick with leaves. According to Elfwine, whose letter she had received earlier that morning (enclosed, as usual, in a much longer one from his father), the tale had been "the best one ever, even though it took Mama a whole week to read it." His handwriting had been startlingly elegant; and while it meant that his lessons were progressing well, Gúthwyn found that she missed his clumsy scrawl.<p>

At any rate, she was glad he loved the stories, which she had taken to sending in large batches so as to tide him over until the messenger could return. Unfortunately, she had no idea if Lothíriel felt the same way, as she suspected that the queen would rather swallow mud than send a letter to her rival. Which for the most part suited Gúthwyn, as she was certainly not interested in becoming friends with the other woman, but it would have been nice to know whether the exercise was having its intended impact.

Still mulling over the matter, she walked into the stables, which were more crowded than usual. Legolas and his companions had arrived the previous night for a weeklong stay, much to Hammel and Haiweth's chagrin. ("Why is he _always_ here?" Hammel had growled before storming off to the library, from which Gúthwyn expected he would not emerge until the visit was over.) The Elves had been at the archery range all morning, prompting Gúthwyn's decision to forego the training grounds and instead spend some much-needed time with Sceoh.

She had brought an apple to start her visit on the right note, and soon Sceoh was munching happily while she brushed his coat. "Perhaps we can go for a ride soon," she murmured, wondering which would be the best trail to take. Éowyn and Faramir had already left with Elboron for a picnic outing, and she did not want to interrupt their time together. She thought they had headed south, so that left the north.

Yet she was in no hurry, so she spent several leisurely minutes brushing Sceoh and talking to him (though, of course, he never talked back). As she went to retrieve his saddle, she stepped awkwardly and felt a pang of discomfort in her bad ankle. _Wonderful,_ she thought, glowering down at her boot. A reminder of the lingering frailty in her bones was just what she needed to start the day.

The stable doors opened a moment later, bringing an end to her solitude. Expecting one of the servants, she was caught off-guard when Legolas walked in.

He stopped short when he saw her. "Gúthwyn," he said, his eyes widening. "I am sorry, I did not—I hope I am not intruding."

"Nay, not at all," Gúthwyn assured him: an automatic reply that had nothing to do with the thoughts that were beginning to swarm, butterfly-like, through her mind. She supposed that, as the sister of one of his hosts, it would be polite for her to invite him on her ride. But she had not yet decided where she was going, and her route would have to be chosen all the more carefully if Legolas were involved. A well-used path, so no one could accuse them of anything unseemly; and preferably a short one, for the sake of her nerves…

_Who says he would even want to join you in the first place?_ Gúthwyn reprimanded herself. For all she knew, Legolas had been counting on the stables being empty so that he could have some time alone. Given his royal status, she imagined that he seldom had such a luxury during the day.

It was Legolas who resolved the conundrum for her. "Were you planning on going out for a ride?" he inquired.

Hoping that she had not been staring at him like an idiot, Gúthwyn answered, "Oh, um—yes. Yes, I was."

"Would you like to join me?"

"Er—yes, of course." Aware that Legolas had noticed her hesitation, she quickly tried to explain. "It is just that we should—we should probably stick to paths that are highly trafficked, lest someone accuse us—well, me—of… well…" She commanded herself to be quiet.

Legolas frowned—whether at her rambling, or at the restrictions she had to impose on herself for the sake of her reputation, she was not certain. "I would not wish to make things difficult for you. I am sorry that such precautions are necessary."

"It is fine, for the most part," Gúthwyn replied, though she did not quite understand why she was bothering to lie. "And it will not be much trouble today, for there are plenty of options left."

"I am glad to hear it." Legolas paused, then asked, "Have you eaten yet? I brought some food with me, but I can go and get more."

"Th-Thank you, but I brought some with me as well," Gúthwyn stammered. A picnic with Legolas? This was turning into more of a production than she would have liked.

_It is just a meal,_ she scolded herself. And not a very fancy one at that, seeing as how neither of them had brought a blanket.

"Well," she said, squaring her shoulders. "Shall we?"

* * *

><p>Legolas let Gúthwyn take the lead, so she struck a trail that took a northerly course and hugged closely to the hills. It was slow-going for the most part, with twists and turns to accommodate the uneven landscape, but with the occasional flat stretch where she could urge Sceoh into an exhilarating—albeit brief—run. Since Legolas was more than capable of keeping up with her, the ride passed enjoyably, with discussions about Elfwine's archery training (according to Éomer, he was being quite diligent about practicing on his own), Elboron (whose principal activities remained eating, sleeping, and listening to Faramir read), and the colony ("My father has 'suggested' that I host a feast, so once I return I shall be buried in preparations for that," Legolas reported).<p>

Although Gúthwyn possessed, in theory, greater knowledge of the terrain, it was Legolas who found their lunch spot: a short lawn between two large trees, overlooking a bend in the path, with a small stream nearby. They tethered their mounts within reach of the stream (Sceoh quite placid in Arod's presence) and settled on the grass.

Gúthwyn had worried that the conversation would peter out, but Legolas soon inquired about her story project for Elfwine. She filled him in on its progress, or lack thereof. "I just hope he and Lothíriel are enjoying their time together," she concluded with a sigh. "It is difficult to determine whether anything has actually changed. And of course, Lothíriel would never tell me if it did."

"Has she written to you at all since you began sending the stories?" When Gúthwyn shook her head, Legolas looked at her in astonishment. "Not even to thank you?"

"She blames me for damaging their relationship in the first place," Gúthwyn pointed out. "And I am certain that she is still trying to find the catch in what I am doing now. She trusts me no further than she could throw me."

"Surely she must realize that you are motivated by concern for Elfwine."

Gúthwyn shrugged. "I doubt we will ever see eye to eye. But no matter if she suspects me of ulterior motives, so long as she continues reading to Elfwine. He has greatly enjoyed the stories, yours most of all."

"I am pleased to hear it." Legolas smiled at her, and she could not help but return the gesture; for the sun was warm upon her skin, and she was suddenly glad that she had learned to trust the Elf beside her. "Maedhros's rescue was the last story I sent to you, was it not? How did he like it?"

"He said it was one of his favorites," Gúthwyn reported. "He said Maedhros reminded him of Lebryn." In order to save Maedhros, Fingon had had no other choice but to cut off his friend's shackled wrist—yet though Maedhros had been forced to relearn how to wield a sword, he had gone on to be even deadlier with his left hand than with his right. It was not surprising that Elfwine had made the connection to Lebryn, whose missing limb had not hindered him in the slightest from earning a position as one of the royal guards.

"Indeed. Though it is a pity what happened after," Legolas remarked.

"What do you mean? Did he die?"

Legolas glanced at her in surprise. "Well, you know about the oath he swore to recover the Silmarils."

"The… what?"

For a moment, Legolas was silenced by amazement. Then he checked himself, replying, "I forget that the Silmarils do not figure so prominently in the memories of Men as they do for the Elves."

"But what are they?" Gúthwyn felt rather like Elfwine, waiting impatiently for the next details of the story.

Several times, Legolas started to speak; at length he subsided, saying, "I could not possibly explain well enough in a day, let alone an hour. It is a complicated history, and perhaps much of it would not interest anyone other than the Elves."

In spite of his words—or maybe because of them—Gúthwyn was intrigued. She wondered if she would be able to write down any of it for Elfwine. "I would like to hear it one day, if there is time."

Legolas seemed to guess where her thoughts had turned. "I will try to set some of it to paper once I return home, so you can translate it for Elfwine at your leisure."

"That would be wonderful—thank you—though I will not hold you to it, for I know you will be busy with preparations—"

"It will be no trouble at all," Legolas assured her. "Indeed, I am looking forward to it."

After thanking him profusely—she still could not imagine what she had ever done to deserve his generosity—she inquired about whether or not he expected many instructions from his father regarding the feast, and the conversation shifted to Elvish customs of assembly. By the time they finished their food, the sun was already upon Gúthwyn's other side, and she reluctantly suggested heading back.

The ride home was a blur, literally, for she challenged Legolas to a race; and though he fell back whenever the trail narrowed, he always caught up to her again, so that when at last they emerged from the forest they were at a loss as to who had won.

"Oh well," Gúthwyn remarked, laughing. She reached down to pat Sceoh, whose tail was still swishing in excitement. Even Arod had broken his usual poise to breathe more heavily than usual. "If we had the open fields, it would have been a true race, but—what?"

Adrenaline from the ride was still coursing through her, so at first she had not registered anything amiss; but now she realized that Legolas was staring at her, his eyes wide with—what? What was he looking at her for?

Legolas blinked, so suddenly that at first she wondered if she had not been mistaken, and if he had not merely gotten lost in his own thoughts. Yet then he flushed, his normally pale cheeks turning darker than she had ever seen them, and she knew that he had been watching her—or, more precisely, her hair, which she now realized was an absolute mess. The race had sent it flying in every which direction, and she could only imagine how frizzy it was.

"Sorry," she said, not quite certain what she was even apologizing for. "I suppose I should have tied it back before we started…" She began gathering up her hair, surreptitiously smoothing out the strands as she pulled them in.

"Nay, do not—" Legolas stopped, looking as if he very much regretted having spoken. "Forgive me, I did not mean to make you uncomfortable. I was simply thinking—about—"

"It is all right," Gúthwyn interrupted. She thought she would spare them both the embarrassment of a lie. Not knowing what else to do, she nudged Sceoh into a walk, heading for the stables. After a moment, Legolas followed suit with Arod. But the easiness of the past couple of hours had fallen away, and there was an awkward tension in the air—which was compounded for Gúthwyn when they passed Nanaendis, who glanced curiously at her and Legolas.

All in all, she was very relieved to reach the stables, which was why she vaulted off of Sceoh more quickly than usual. It was only when she landed off-balance, and felt her foot give way beneath her, that she too late remembered the ominous twinging of her ankle. Then she heard a _crack_, and the pain was so breathtaking that she could not endure it. Her body collapsed in on itself, and she knew as she hit the ground that something had gone horribly wrong.

Behind her, she heard Legolas leaping off of Arod—a sure sign that he had dismounted in haste, for normally his movements were silent. "Gúthwyn!" he exclaimed, at her side in an instant.

Gúthwyn could hardly breathe, let alone respond. It was taking all she had not to vomit from the agony. Her hands and knees had been scraped in the fall, and now she pressed them even harder into the dirt, desperate for something to distract her.

"Gúthwyn?" Legolas's palm came to rest on her shoulder and it did not matter, his touch was nothing, there was nothing that could transcend the blinding pain pulsing through her ankle. She would not look at it—but she had to, she had no other choice. Already knowing that whatever she found would be worse than anything her imagination could conjure, she slowly, laboriously, sank onto her non-injured side and rolled into a sitting position (thanking the Valar she had not worn a dress). Taking a deep breath, she glanced down.

Her foot was pointing in another direction entirely.

And it was not pointing so much as dangling.

"I need Nestadan," she choked out. "The healer. I need to—I need—"

"First we must bring you someplace cleaner than this," Legolas pointed out, his gaze roving over the dirt floors. "Is it far to his house?"

"It is closer to Éowyn and Faramir's. Yet I cannot…" Gúthwyn bit her lip, but there was no way around what she had to say. "I cannot walk," she finally admitted.

"Of course not," Legolas started to reply; then he, too, recognized the dilemma. "Would you like me to find someone to carry you?"

Gúthwyn hesitated, considering her options. Cobryn was the only person in Emyn Arnen whom she would have wholly trusted for the job, but he could not bear her entire weight without risking damage to his leg. Faramir was the next obvious choice, albeit one significantly less preferable; yet he was likely miles away, still enjoying his picnic with Éowyn and Elboron. That left Nestadan… but was she really going to sit in the middle of the stable and wait for Legolas to fetch him? Would it be so terrible to let Legolas carry her, quickly, and get it over with? He had proven again and again that she could trust him—so why was she wavering?

Steeling her resolve, she told him, "You can do it."

"Are you sure?" He locked eyes with her, searching for any sign of reticence, and the heat of his gaze made it difficult to think.

Then again, that might have just been the pain. "I-It will be easier," she replied, grimacing. "And faster."

Legolas nodded, and scooped her off of the ground before Gúthwyn was even aware that he had moved closer. She was stunned when her initial reaction was not to tense with fear, but rather to put her arm around his shoulders for extra balance. Indeed, it was hard to dwell on distant memories when her present circumstances were so aggrieving; the past could hold little sway while her ankle was commanding all attention.

"Lady Gúthwyn!"

As they left the stables, Nanaendis came running over, her eyes wide as they zeroed in on her foot. "I will get my husband," she said before Gúthwyn even had to think about asking. "He will be at the house soon. It would be best to wait until he arrives before removing your boot."

"The healer's wife?" Legolas guessed as Nanaendis hurried away.

Gúthwyn nodded, then remembered that he would not have seen it unless he was looking straight down. "Yes," she mumbled, finally giving up on holding her head aloft and resting it against his shoulder. As awkward as she felt, it was far more comfortable than straining her neck. "They—" She was cut off by her own gasp of pain. Legolas had just mounted the steps to the dwelling, and the motion had knocked her ankles together. Her eyes watered as she fought to keep from screaming.

"I am so sorry," Legolas apologized, horrified; and though he was not heavy of foot to begin with, his steps were so light thereafter that, had she not been able to see, she would never have realized they were moving. The guards let them inside, where numerous servants stopped what they were doing and stared at the sight.

Legolas ignored them. He moved rapidly through the hall, making it blur before her eyes—and only by chance did she notice a flash of gold.

"Haiweth!" she called, using her free hand to gesture for Legolas to stop. He obligingly came to a halt just as Haiweth heard her name and glanced up, startled, from her drawing.

"What happened to your foot?" she asked, wrinkling her nose. Her gaze darted once to Legolas. "Why is it bent like that?"

"I think I broke it again," Gúthwyn replied, realizing that she and Haiweth were speaking Rohirric. Had Haiweth always addressed her this way when they were around Legolas? Was she doing it on purpose? Switching to the Common Tongue, she asked, "Could you please find Cobryn? He might be in the library."

Haiweth nodded and ran off. Legolas continued with Gúthwyn to her room, somehow managing to support her while he opened the door. As he brought her inside, Gúthwyn felt a tremor of anxiety finally trump her pain. For but a moment, he would be standing above her as she lay before him on a mattress. For but an instant, his hands would be upon her.

There was a queer sensation in her stomach as Legolas approached the bed. She found herself holding her breath, and it was perhaps because of this that her heart began hammering at its confines. Surely Legolas would hear it, or notice that her palm was clammy against his neck.

The room seemed utterly silent. She was unable to resist glancing up at Legolas, and it appeared that he was having similar thoughts: their eyes locked, his never leaving hers as he gently lowered her to the mattress. She wondered how her throat could have gone so dry.

It was almost a relief when her ankle connected with the mattress and sent a sharp wave of pain through her leg. Legolas saw her contorted features and swiftly started apologizing. "It is not your fault," she assured him, attempting in vain to find a comfortable sitting position. Each was worse than the last. "It must be broken."

"How many times has this happened before?"

"Twice?" Gúthwyn leaned back against her pillows, achieving no discernible result—as welcome as the support was, it could not distract from her ankle. "At least. I am growing rather tired of it, actually."

"What can I do to help?" Legolas inquired. "If there is anything you need, I am utterly at your disposal."

Something about the way he said it made her self-conscious—perhaps a low, soft note in his voice, or a look in his eyes that seemed to turn them a deeper shade of blue than she could withstand—and she glanced down so that he would not see the blush spreading across her cheeks. Adjusting her boot, a pretense she instantly regretted, she kept her gaze trained on her leg as she replied, "Thank you, really—I do not need anything, but I am truly grateful for everything you have—"

She was interrupted by the arrival of Haiweth, Cobryn, and Hammel, the latter of whom looked as if he had been dragged there by force. He glanced briefly at Gúthwyn, then focused his attention on Legolas. Gúthwyn flinched at the hatred in his gaze, and for a moment she saw—as if written plainly across his face—the violent desires within his heart.

And then they were gone, so quickly that she might have been imagining them.

"How did it happen?" she dimly heard Cobryn asking. "Gúthwyn?"

It was not until Legolas started responding that she realized Cobryn had been talking to her. Wresting her gaze away from Hammel, who by now had settled himself with a book in the remotest corner of the room, Gúthwyn tried to focus back on the conversation. Instead, she found herself observing Haiweth. The girl had installed herself on the opposite side of the bed as Legolas, and was staring fixatedly at the comforter while he spoke, although Gúthwyn could tell that she was listening. Her shoulders were tensed, as if she were prepared to spring at the slightest sign of a threat.

Gúthwyn was aware that neither of the children had grown used to Legolas's occasional appearances in their lives, and that both of them preferred to avoid him—this was not news to her. But seeing them like this was painful in ways that the worst ankle injury could never be, and she wondered if asking Legolas to leave would not be the best course of action. As rude as it would be to him, she had to consider the children first. And if they were so uncomfortable…

Before she could finish the thought, Nestadan appeared, a bag of supplies in hand. "Lady Gúthwyn, we meet again," he remarked, joining the others (minus Hammel) at her bedside. "Dare I ask how you obtained this injury?"

"It is a rather dull story, I am afraid." Gúthwyn told him what had happened, explaining that it was not the first time her foot had betrayed her.

"Let us remove the boot, then, shall we?" Nestadan suggested. Yet that was easier said than done—for as careful as the healer was, the slightest movement of her shoe caused excruciating pain. Worse, the boot seemed to get stuck right around her ankle. "It is likely swollen," Nestadan said apologetically when she let out a strangled yelp. "I am afraid I must continue pulling."

If Cobryn had been nearby, Gúthwyn would have liked to hold his hand, the way she had when Elfhelm had removed the arrow from her shoulder; but he was on the other side of the bed, too far away for her to reach. Her only option was Legolas, who had not moved since laying her on the mattress. And while she would never rely on his help in such a manner before Hammel and Haiweth, she had the startling thought that she might have actually contemplated doing so if the children were not around.

It was a frightening revelation, not least because she believed she should have been more frightened than she was. Yet before she had time to dwell on the matter further, Nestadan slid off her boot and the sock below, and she and Haiweth both gasped—her in pain, Haiweth in horror. Not only had Gúthwyn managed to twist her foot in a direction that no foot had any business being pointed, but the area around her ankle was bruised and distended beyond recognition.

"Can this be fixed?"

Cobryn, ever the practical one—yet his query did little for her nerves. "That is not a question, is it?" she squeaked. "Of course it can be fixed, right?"

But Nestadan's mouth had formed a grim line at the sight of the injury, and it was several seconds before he responded. "Repeated breaks and sprains suggest that the bone is weak. In all likelihood, it never healed properly after one of those incidents. I will have to reset it, and that is a painful process."

"Oh." Gúthwyn thought of Elfhelm pushing the arrow through her shoulder, then yanking it back out. As awful as that had been, she had managed not to cry out during the operation. There was no reason why she could not do the same today. "It will be quick?" she asked Nestadan, imagining him snapping her ankle back in place.

Nestadan shook his head. "The bones must be aligned properly, or I will only have made things worse. It cannot be rushed, my lady, I am sorry. I would suggest sending Hammel and Haiweth from the room if you do not want them to witness this."

Since Haiweth was looking rather nauseous already, Gúthwyn decided to take the healer's advice. "Hammel, Haiweth, if you could—" She did not need to finish the sentence. Hammel was out of his chair in an instant, and Haiweth joined him with a rather guilty expression. The doors soon closed behind them, though not before Gúthwyn saw Cobryn's eyes narrow at Hammel. She shot him a questioning look.

"He should have stayed," Cobryn said bluntly.

Nestadan and Legolas glanced over in confusion—Cobryn had spoken in Rohirric—but when no translation was forthcoming, Nestadan went back to business. "Lady Gúthwyn, you will have to be held down while I do this. Otherwise, it will take me longer to set the bone. Would you like to wait until your sister returns?"

It was an offer he was making out of courtesy, Gúthwyn realized; had he not been aware of her past, she doubted he would have recommended delay. Yet she was tempted to take him up on it and halt the proceedings until Éowyn could be there, and…

_And what?_ she asked herself. _Waste everyone's time?_ Nestadan surely had other duties to attend to, and she could hardly expect Cobryn and Legolas to keep her company all day. Éowyn might return soon, but she also might elect to remain out with her family; and meanwhile, the longer it took to start the healing process, the harder it would be when she finally started.

"N-No, we can begin now," she replied, though not without reservations. What did Nestadan mean, 'held down'? What did that entail? Would she have to be tied to the mattress? Perhaps she had not thought this through…

Before she could change her mind, however, Nestadan was already giving instructions. "Cobryn, if you could come around to this side of the bed, I will need you to grab her arms. Prince Legolas, if you could help with her legs—"

"Wait!" Gúthwyn blurted out, unable to stop herself. All movement in the room ceased as the men stopped and looked at her. Each of them knew at least part of the reason behind her discomfort, though only Cobryn had been told the story in full. The concern in their gazes made her flush, and she almost decided to say nothing at all.

As always, it was Cobryn who deciphered her concerns before she could even figure out how to articulate them. In Rohirric, he asked, "Do you want Legolas and I to switch places?"

"Yes," she admitted, not daring to look at the Elf. While their friendship had come leaps and bounds since its rocky inception, the mere suggestion of him pinning down her legs—even in an entirely innocent context—filled her with alarm.

Legolas heard his name; yet not understanding their conversation, he misinterpreted its meaning. "I can leave," he offered.

"I was just saying that it would be better for you to hold her arms," Cobryn told him, "as my leg will not allow me sufficient leverage for the task."

Gúthwyn could not tell how much of that explanation Legolas believed, but he nodded readily enough and exchanged places with Cobryn. Gúthwyn swallowed as she looked up at him, knowing that in just a few seconds he would be restraining her. She prayed she would not have any flashbacks of her time in Haldor's tent, though it had already occurred to her how vulnerable she was.

_I should have waited for Éowyn,_ she thought.

Legolas sat down on the bed, facing her. While she was glad that he no longer towered over her, it was a small measure of comfort, and one that quickly vanished when he placed his hands on her shoulders. As soft and tentative as his touch was, she felt as if he had burned her.

"I am sorry," he murmured. She was aware of Cobryn and Nestadan behind him, manipulating her limbs into place, but she hardly noticed what they were doing. "Are you all right?"

She met his gaze, inches from her own, and felt the blueness of it sear into her. "I hope I will be, soon," she managed, forcing a smile.

"Gúthwyn, are you ready?" Nestadan inquired.

_Please, let this be over with quickly,_ Gúthwyn thought. As Legolas's grip on her tightened ever so slightly, she took a deep breath and nodded. "Y-Yes, I am ready."

The next instant, both Legolas and Cobryn had to scramble to maintain their hold as she bucked wildly against them—for this pain was worse, a thousand times worse, than what she had experienced under Elfhelm's ministrations. Every muscle in her foot seemed to be resisting Nestadan's efforts, but the healer was slowly gaining the mastery. The result was unbearable.

"Keep her down!" Nestadan shouted. Legolas and Cobryn's hands clamped down on her, making it impossible to move her ankle out of Nestadan's reach. She began thrashing in earnest, unable to stop herself. A cry escaped her mouth, then another; she could not endure this, would not endure it. But she must: she had the sudden absurd thought that Hammel and Haiweth might be within earshot, and she could not allow them to hear her distress. So she bit into her lips, drawing blood, and tried to hold in every sound, but she could not. And the muffled groans that escaped were even worse, for they reminded her of an animal bellowing in pain.

Legolas's face contorted as he watched her. "Is there nothing you can do to make this faster?" he demanded, turning to Nestadan. "Is there nothing you can do to ease her suffering?"

And though Gúthwyn's vision was clouding, and she was finding it difficult to concentrate on her surroundings, it did not escape her notice that Cobryn glanced sharply up at Legolas before he, too, looked at Nestadan.

The healer was unmoved. "If I do not fix this properly the first time," he began—but Gúthwyn did not hear the rest, for whatever he did in that moment tore a fresh scream from her throat. She thought she would pass out; then Nestadan pushed, and she actually felt the pieces of her broken bone grinding together. All the air disappeared from her lungs. Dizzy with pain, she stared at the black spots that were dancing in her eyes, eventually giving up on trying to make any sense of them. As she slid away from the room, the last thing she heard was Legolas calling her name.


	92. Bedside Stories

**Chapter Ninety-Two**

When she awoke, the room was filled with light and her ankle was throbbing. Disoriented, she blinked into the sun, wincing as it cut through her eyelids. What time was it? Why had she been asleep? Where was Legolas?

"Gúthwyn?"

She turned to face her hailer and regretted it. The movement dislodged her foot from the pillow it had been resting on, sending a shock of pain through her leg.

"Careful," Cobryn warned as she gasped. "You are supposed to keep it like that for the next three days. Nestadan's orders—and these are nonnegotiable."

After a long and distinguished history of defying her healers, Gúthwyn was reluctant to admit that she could not imagine walking after a week of rest, let alone three days. "And then I can get out of bed?" she asked, gritting her teeth.

Cobryn let out a bark of laughter. "No, then you can remove the pillow. Nestadan wants you in bed for at least the next two weeks. He says it is a miracle he was able to reset the bone in the first place, considering how poorly mended it was, and he will have to repeat the process if you do not heal properly—which I doubt has any appeal to you."

Gúthwyn shuddered. The very memory seemed to augment the pain in her ankle; she had no intention of going back for a second round of torture.

"How are you feeling?"

"I have been better." Not only did it seem like every horse in the Riddermark had trampled over her foot, but she suspected that she would get little to no sleep over the next few days—for how could she, when the discomfort was so great? Trying to distract herself, she asked, "Where are Hammel and Haiweth?"

"In their rooms, awaiting dinner," Cobryn informed her. "And Hammel is hopefully spending his time in earnest contemplation of how much you have provided for him and his sister over the years, as I thought it best to remind him after his display this afternoon."

Gúthwyn frowned. "I told him to leave."

"He did not want to come in the first place. He said, and I quote: 'She is always injuring herself or getting sick, so why do we have to dance attendance on her every time?'"

She tried to disguise her hurt, but a sigh betrayed her. "I am beginning to find that I have less and less energy to fight with him. He is almost an adult, there is little I can compel him to do anymore."

"Then it is a good thing I have enough energy for both of us." Cobryn's mouth was set in a grim line. "He may be on the cusp of manhood, but is behavior is nothing short of childish. You do not deserve to bear the brunt of his anger."

Sometimes, Gúthwyn wondered if Cobryn was mistaken—if she did, in fact, deserve Hammel's censure. Half-forgotten, her suspicions that he knew what she had done with Haldor now arose to the surface of her fears. Would it not explain the disgust in his eyes whenever he looked at her?

Resolving to put aside those thoughts, she slowly inhaled and exhaled, then glanced back at Cobryn. In what she hoped was a casual tone, she asked, "Where is Legolas? I ought to… I ought to thank him for his help. Both of you. I am sure yours was not a pleasant task."

"Not particularly," Cobryn agreed, before adding in Rohirric, "You can speak to him now, if you wish. He is waiting outside."

"Outside?" Gúthwyn echoed. "He has not been there long, has he?"

"He has not left."

Gúthwyn gaped at her friend in dismay. "But how long have I been asleep?"

"Almost three hours. Which reminds me, I promised your sister I would let her know when you were awake. Would you like to receive your visitor?"

"Yes, please," she replied, still amazed that Legolas had been waiting all this time. She supposed an afternoon did not matter so much to an Elf, but she did not want him to feel as if he had to linger for her sake.

When he entered the room, she smiled—but he frowned, his brow furrowed with concern, and spoke before she had a chance to greet him. "Are you all right?"

"I will be," she assured him, "though I am confined to my bed for the next two weeks. I had rather hoped I had seen the last of these extended 'rests.'"

"Does your ankle hurt?" he pressed her.

"A little," she admitted. "But thanks to you, Cobryn, and Nestadan, it is better than it might have been. I am sorry you had to see me like that." Her cheeks grew hot as she remembered how she had strained against him—and worse, the frenzied cries she had let escape from her mouth. So much for retaining any sense of dignity.

"You have nothing to apologize for," Legolas swore. "I only wish there was aught I could have done to alleviate your pain. It was… quite difficult to force you to submit to the procedure. Knowing that it would ultimately help you did little to make it easier."

Gúthwyn flushed. "Well, it is over now," she said, eager to change the subject. She did not know what to think about Legolas's distress on her account, and so she preferred not to think of it at all. "Thus my boredom begins—oh, but please, sit." She had just realized that she had never invited him to take the chair beside her bed.

Legolas obliged. "Better boredom than further injury."

"I know." And she did, although resignation did not make it any easier to bear. "At least I will have plenty of time to compose new stories for Elfwine."

"Perhaps—" Legolas broke off; then, after a slight pause, he continued, "I might be able to help, if you would not mind the company."

The offer delighted her. While she enjoyed inventing tales for her nephew, she did not know if her creativity was up to the challenge of surviving two full weeks without external stimulation. "I would very much like that," she told him with a smile. "That is, if it is no hardship to you. I am sure you would rather not spend your visit here cooped up indoors."

"Nay, it would be a pleasure," Legolas replied. "It is not often that I get to tell stories to a, shall I say, captive audience."

When Gúthwyn caught the joke, she surprised herself by laughing. "I do not suppose you would be willing to tell me about the—those—the Silmarils, was it? For it appears I have an abundance of time on my hands."

"The Silmarils," Legolas confirmed. His eyes were sparkling, and there was a smile about his lips as he added, "I would be happy to. Perhaps tomorrow—"

There was a knock at the door, and Éowyn stepped into the room without waiting for a response. "Baby sister, I am glad to see you awake. Thank you, Legolas, for taking care of her while we were gone."

Rising, Legolas assured her that it had not been any trouble. "I will take my leave," he said, offering Éowyn his vacated seat. "Gúthwyn, I hope you rest well."

"Tomorrow, then?" she found herself asking as he turned to walk away.

He stopped and looked back at her, then inclined his head. "Of course. Whenever you are ready, please send for me."

After he departed, Éowyn situated herself at Gúthwyn's side. "What is tomorrow?" she inquired.

Gúthwyn glanced quickly at her, but there did not appear to be anything lurking beneath the surface of the question. "He is going to tell me a story for Elfwine. It was kind of him to offer to keep me company."

"Kind indeed."

Again, that bland tone. "Yes," Gúthwyn agreed, unable to disguise the stiffness in her voice. "He is a generous friend."

Éowyn must have caught the emphasis behind _friend_, and the ensuing point, for the topic was soon changed.

* * *

><p>Although Nestadan's order of bed rest had initially been welcome, by the following afternoon Gúthwyn was bored out of her mind. She had already answered all of her letters, and moreover had reached out to old acquaintances such as Gimli, Merry, and Pippin; she had had a visit from Haiweth, and admired the latest of the girl's drawings; and she had consumed her entire lunch under the watchful eye of Cobryn, who had then supplied her with several books ("light reading," he called it) which were now lying neglected on her nightstand. For a moment, she actually considered opening one.<p>

Instead, she summoned a maid and asked her to send for Legolas, "but only if he is not otherwise occupied."

Legolas was at her door not five minutes later, his bow still slung over his shoulder. "I did not mean to pull you away from the training grounds," she said in dismay. "I could have waited."

"I have all the time in the world to practice," Legolas assured her. (_Literally,_ she thought.) Carefully propping his bow against the wall, he came over and sat beside her bed. "How is your ankle?"

"Better, somewhat." While the knife-sharp pains had subsided, they had left behind a persistent, dull ache that made it impossible to find comfort, no matter how many times she moved her leg in a vain attempt to dislodge the sensation. She had not even tried to leave her bed, for she knew instinctively that her foot was still too fragile to support her. And somehow, that realization made her feel far more imprisoned than Nestadan's instructions had.

Legolas shook his head. "You and Aragorn," he muttered. "If I have heard either of you voluntarily admit to being in pain, then I am a Hobbit."

"You would not make a very good Hobbit," Gúthwyn pointed out. "You would not be able to fit in their homes, for starters."

"That, and I am not fond of mushrooms."

She smiled at the confession, marking how Legolas's eyes had sparkled when he said it. Only a few years ago, it seemed, their friendship had been too tenuous for jokes. Now they were both grinning at each other, and Legolas's hair was tangled with sunlight, and she was not going to berate herself for noticing this because _he was not Haldor_.

And it was then, Gúthwyn decided, that the comparisons would stop. She had been making fewer of them recently, it was true; somewhere along the line, Haldor had faded into the background without her realizing it. Yet now she was making a conscious choice to fling him further into darkness, to be around Legolas without feeling uneasy or guilt, and most of all to stop blaming herself for moving on.

She could do that much, could she not?

"Gúthwyn?"

She returned to her room, to the light in Legolas's eyes. "Yes?"

"Are you tired?" His brow furrowed. "I can return later, if that would be better."

"No, not at all—I am sorry, I was just lost in my thoughts. But I am back now." She smiled at him, then took a quill and some parchment from her nightstand. Cobryn had procured for her a small writing desk that could be used while in bed, and it was already promising to be a close companion. "Shall we begin?"

Having never heard of the Silmarils before, Gúthwyn had imagined Legolas telling her the story for an hour or two each day, until by the end of the week the tale was both finished and translated for Elfwine's consumption. But as Legolas spoke of the Elves who dwelt beyond the Sea, and the differences between the Vanyar, the Noldor, and the Teleri, Gúthwyn began to realize that the scope of these events was far beyond anything she could convey to her nephew. After a time, she set aside the parchment and simply listened, allowing herself to be swept into a world that seemed so very unlike her own.

Her eyelids started to droop; she struggled to keep them open, though it was far more tempting to surrender to the visions her mind had created from Legolas's words. It was not until he halted, and asked if she would like to continue another day, that she became aware she had already given in.

"No, please, keep going," she said, blinking in surprise. "I am listening, I promise. What happened after Fëanor's mother died?"

Legolas resumed the tale. Now with her eyes closed, Gúthwyn's other senses became heightened: she noticed the sun upon her face, traveling in a slow arc across the bridge of her nose; outside, she heard the trees rustling their limbs in gentle answer to the hopeful chirps of birds. The air was sweet, laden with fragrances from Éowyn's garden, but cool, and she was grateful for her thick blanket.

Above all, Legolas spoke, and there was a melodious undercurrent to his voice that made her feel as if she were adrift in the breeze, tethered to nothing, free to float where she would. He talked about lands that had never known sickness, beaches strewn with jewels, fields that ran for miles without end. She listened and smiled to let him know that she was still awake, and allowed herself to slip further away…

A sharp rap on the door startled her and forced her back into the room, where she blinked in confusion at the shadows that had gathered around her and Legolas. Gone was the sun, wandering off to other parts of the world, leaving behind only a glimmer of light.

Cobryn's voice, announcing that he had brought dinner, finally oriented her. She followed the sound to the doorway, where he was standing with a small tray in hand. "Dinner?" she echoed, wondering if she had heard him correctly. "What time is it? I thought—I thought it was only a few hours past lunch?"

"Several," Cobryn corrected her.

Gúthwyn stared at him in dismay, then turned to Legolas. "I am sorry," she apologized, mortified. "I truly did not realize how much time had gone by. I should not have kept you for so long."

"Say nothing of it, for it was no trouble at all," he assured her. "Perhaps we can continue this tomorrow?"

"Only if it is not an inconvenience—"

"I promise it is not."

She flushed, keenly aware of Cobryn watching them. "Then I would quite like that," she told Legolas, relieved that he was making so graceful an exit. It was odd, but something about him and Cobryn both being in the room—each with the intent of caring for her, albeit in his own way—made her uncomfortable, and strangely flustered. It felt as if she could not attend to one, without neglecting the other: for they were in separate parts of her life, parts that did not overlap. And now that she thought of it, she could not recall a single instance of interaction between them that had not been brought about by their proximity to her.

When she and Cobryn were alone, she found herself asking, "What is your opinion of Legolas?"

Cobryn had been carefully handing over her dinner tray; only the slightest pause in his movements told her that she had caught him off-guard. "My opinion of Legolas?" he repeated, pulling up the chair that the Elf had vacated. "Why do you ask?"

Gúthwyn studied the meal before her—not because she was trying to guess the stew's contents, but because she needed a moment to regain her composure. "I just was thinking," she finally ventured, "you never seem to talk to him."

"What would I talk to him about?"

Gúthwyn hesitated, realizing that she did not have a good answer—or any answer at all.

"I have no quarrels with him, if that is what you are asking," Cobryn said after a pause. "Our paths simply do not cross. Or at least, that is how it used to be."

"Used to be?" Belatedly, Gúthwyn understood: Cobryn was referring to their recent move to Ithilien. "Oh, of course, yes. We do see him quite often now."

"Does that bother you?"

"Not anymore." She was telling the truth. Once a source of crippling anxiety, Legolas's visits were now a pleasant—maybe even anticipated—diversion from the monotony of her life in Emyn Arnen. "But it does bother Hammel and Haiweth. Did you see how they were yesterday because of him?"

Cobryn nodded. "Hammel especially looked as if he had half a mind to murder him."

"More than half, I fear." Gúthwyn's stomach turned uneasily as she recalled the strange fire in Hammel's eyes. "Do you think I have done the wrong thing in allowing Legolas to visit so often?"

Raising an eyebrow, Cobryn replied, "I do not see how that decision has been in your power."

"Yes, but—I know if I said the word to Éowyn, she and Faramir would invite him less frequently. They could not abandon the acquaintance entirely, but it would be easier on Hammel and Haiweth."

"And would you be glad for his absence?"

As few as five years ago, Gúthwyn's answer would have been a resounding 'yes.' Now she hesitated, torn between the desire to shield the children from discomfort and the memory—still fresh—of how pleasant her afternoon with Legolas had been. Finally she said, "I would not… I would not want to send him away as though he had done something wrong. Especially since he has been so kind to me, and to the children when he can. But Haiweth is so frightened of him, and Hammel—"

"Hammel is a lost cause," Cobryn said bluntly. "Barring a miracle, he will never reconcile himself to Legolas's presence, yet nor will his attitude towards either of you improve if you ask Legolas to discontinue his visits. It is Haiweth with whom you should be concerned."

Gúthwyn sighed. "And therein lies the problem."

"But she is not so unyielding as Hammel. In time, she might learn to see Legolas as something other than a memory of…"

"You can say his name," she remarked when he fumbled, uncharacteristically, for the right words. "I do not think I am so weak anymore as to lose all my faculties at the mere mention of him."

Cobryn refrained from putting her declaration to the test. "You should talk to Haiweth about him, if for no other reason than that it will be better for her if she can learn to tolerate being near him. I would not push her, but she may surprise you."

Gúthwyn had her doubts. It occurred to her that over the years, struggling to overcome her own difficulties, she had not properly addressed Haiweth's. Had they ever had more than a handful of discussions about Legolas and Haldor, each cut off prematurely because she—the one who was supposed to be providing comfort—could not bear to go on? She could not remember. She had failed Haiweth: she had not explained to her the differences between the two Elves, and this omission had forced the girl to endure that terror which Éomund's daughter knew all too well.

It may have been too late for Hammel; perhaps she would never get through to him on anything, let alone the matter of Legolas. But she owed it to Haiweth to at least attempt to rectify her mistakes, to mend the damage she had unwittingly caused. She feared there was little hope of success, yet what else could she do?

Try—and pray that she did not make things worse.


	93. Questions Without Answers

**Chapter Ninety-Three**

Legolas returned the next afternoon to continue the tale of the Silmarils, which he assured her they were only a very small part of the way through. While Gúthwyn had yet to grasp what was so important about a set of jewels, even ones that somehow managed to contain the light of trees (however that worked), she was enjoying herself immensely. Legolas was always happy to answer her questions, of which there were many, though like as not these led into tangents and distractions. Then the story became hopelessly muddled, and by the time Legolas finished it was often several minutes before either of them could recall where they had deviated from the main plot.

"How can you possibly remember all of this?" she demanded in amazement, after Legolas rattled off the names of what seemed like an entire house of Elves. "I am still trying to keep track of Fingon, Fingolfin, and Fin—Fingund?"

"Finrod Felagund," Legolas corrected with a smile. "And do not forget Finarfin, Fingolfin's and Fëanor's brother. Or Finwë, their father."

"Now you are just making fun of me."

"Only a little." Legolas's lips twitched. "And I am sure you could easily list the heroes of your people, while an outsider would not be able to separate the Éomers from the Eorls."

"Perhaps not," Gúthwyn conceded, "but there are only five hundred years between them, whereas there are ages and ages' worth of history for you to memorize."

"Well, when you have an insistent father and an even more determined tutor…"

Having met the insistent father in question, Gúthwyn could readily fill in the blanks. "I am glad my instructors were always more inclined to despair than persevere," she remarked, remembering how often her lessons had ended with Théodred whisking her away from the sighs of her tutor. She supposed her education had never been of paramount importance, given that she was but fourth in line and thus unlikely to ever ascend to the throne; Éomer, on the other hand, had always been made to finish his lessons, and even Éowyn had spent her fair share of days indoors.

Legolas chuckled. "Why does it not surprise me that you were a difficult pupil."

"I was fairly awful," Gúthwyn admitted. "I am quite certain that I once made my geography tutor cry, and not because I was being cruel to him. And that is saying nothing of the poor women who were tasked with teaching me how to sew."

"I do hope they were paid well for their troubles," Legolas replied with a smirk.

"You may laugh, but surely there was some area in which you fell short of expect—"

A movement at the door caught Gúthwyn's attention. She glanced over to see Haiweth on the threshold, frozen in place, her eyes fixed on the scene within—on the two of them, teasing each other like old friends. The expression on her face was one Gúthwyn would not soon forget: a mingling of fear, revulsion, and betrayal.

Before seeing Legolas, Haiweth had been on the verge of stepping in; now she ducked her shoulders and silently retreated, turning around to make her escape—

"Haiweth!"

The cry startled Gúthwyn just as much as Haiweth. Éomund's daughter could not explain, even to herself, why she had panicked—was she worried that Haiweth would bolt and never return? Or had she intended to apologize in some way for having Legolas in her room, though the Elf in question was standing right beside them?

Haiweth reluctantly slowed, risking another glance into the room. "You are busy," she muttered, avoiding Legolas's gaze.

"We can continue another time," Legolas said swiftly. "I do not wish to intrude." Before either of them could reply, he rose to his feet and bade them farewell.

"Until tomorrow, then," Gúthwyn replied. As much as she wished he could have stayed—the story had just been getting exciting—she was grateful to him for not imposing his presence on Haiweth. "But—Legolas?" she added as he neared the door. "You are not intruding. I have been glad for your company."

Legolas paused at that, and when he turned back to face her there was a soft smile upon his lips. "I am ever at your service."

The warmth Gúthwyn felt at his remark faded when she saw Haiweth scramble to get out of Legolas's path, flattening herself against the wall as if he were a beast that might set upon her at the slightest form of provocation. Legolas slowed, glancing at her and drawing breath as if to speak; but when Haiweth cringed, and refused to look at him, he inclined his head and passed silently out of the room.

Gúthwyn and Haiweth watched him disappear down the hall; only when he was gone did Haiweth relax, color flooding back into her cheeks as she exhaled.

"Little one?" Gúthwyn tentatively inquired.

"Why was he here?" Haiweth said in response. She turned back to Gúthwyn, her face unusually pale. "What were you doing?"

Gúthwyn flinched at the accusing tone. "He was telling me a story. For Elfwine," she added, uncomfortably aware that she was trying to justify herself. "Like the ones you were helping me illustrate, remember?"

Haiweth nodded, but a trace of a grimace still lingered in her features as she asked, "Does he not have more important things to do?" Then she caught herself, reddening. "No offense. But… he is a prince. He should have work or… or something."

Gúthwyn bit her lip, wondering how she ought to proceed—for it was clear that the situation required delicate handling, and she did not know if she was capable of rising to the task. "Well," she said at length, keeping her voice light, "he must not be so busy when he comes to visit us. Otherwise he would not be able to come in the first place."

"Maybe," Haiweth grudgingly conceded.

Gúthwyn examined her for a moment, then gestured to the chair beside her. Haiweth glanced over her shoulder, ensuring that Legolas was gone for good, and finally came over. "I finished my drawing," she reported, unfurling a roll of parchment she had been carrying. "I do not think I got Elboron's eyes right, but—"

"I think they look perfect," Gúthwyn murmured, leaning closer to look. "And the blanket is amazing—I will never understand how you can draw fabric like that."

Haiweth tried to conceal it, but Gúthwyn could tell she was pleased. "It is not so hard. I could teach you."

"I would like to try." Gúthwyn's heart warmed at the invitation—she was not used to either of the children actively seeking out time with her. "Yet I fear you may be the only artist here."

Grinning, Haiweth examined the parchment. "I will give this to Éowyn and Faramir," she announced. "They can decide what to do with it."

"They would like that very much, I am sure. Not everyone is so fortunate as to have such a likeness of their child."

Haiweth nodded. "I would have done one of Elfwine when he was here, but, well, I did not know who to give it to."

Gúthwyn looked at her in surprise. "Éomer and Lothíriel would have been delighted with such a gift."

Shrugging, Haiweth replied, "Queen Lothíriel does not like me. And besides, I would rather you have it. But then that would not be fair to King Éomer."

"Well, it would be proper for Elfwine's parents to receive a drawing first," Gúthwyn pointed out. "But if you were to do a second one later, I would be glad to have it."

Haiweth sighed. "I will never be able to get him to sit still long enough."

_Legolas would._ The fleeting thought reminded Gúthwyn of her duty; yet, reluctant to so drastically alter the mood, she cast about for another distraction. "Do you and Alphros still write to each other?"

Haiweth shot her a quizzical look. "No. We stopped a long time ago. Why?"

"Really?" Gúthwyn felt a vague sense of disappointment, which even she had to acknowledge was ridiculous. "He was a nice boy, I thought the two of you were friends."

Haiweth was rolling her eyes before Gúthwyn finished speaking. "He is _eleven_," she said, obviously considering her fifteen-year-old self far too mature for such companionship. "All he ever talked about were his lessons and how his father and Prince Imrahil would take him sailing around the bay. It was always the same boring thing."

Gúthwyn was sorry she had asked. She hoped Alphros had not been disappointed by Haiweth's abandonment of their correspondence, if indeed the break had been on Haiweth's side and not simply a gradual fading out. She decided not to press her luck by inquiring; the longer she delayed, the more likely she was to say something that made Haiweth completely disinclined toward any conversation, let alone one about Legolas.

Taking a deep breath, she said, "I would like to talk to you about Legolas, if you would not mind."

Haiweth went very, perfectly still. "What about him?" she asked, no longer looking at Gúthwyn.

"Little one"—Gúthwyn wished she could have reached out for the girl's hand, but they were too far apart—"I know you are still frightened of him. And I know it is difficult for you to be around him."

"I do not mind," Haiweth muttered. Her shoulders were taut, and they twitched as she uttered the lie.

"I understand what it is like," Gúthwyn continued gently. "And I am not blaming you for avoiding him. But it grieves me to see you so afraid of him. Are you worried that he might hurt you?"

Haiweth gave an odd shrug—one that was not a yes, but was not quite a no.

"You have not been in his company as often as I have," Gúthwyn acknowledged, "but I promise, Haiweth, Legolas is nothing like Haldor. He is kind, gentle, and considerate—I wish you could have seen him with Elfwine when we visited the colony—"

"What if he is just pretending?" Haiweth burst out. "What if he is just tricking you, and one day he is going to turn bad again?"

"I used to fear that," Gúthwyn admitted. "I cannot tell you how many times I thought his behavior was a ruse to get me to lower my guard. But ten years is a long time for such a charade, Haiweth, and there are others who can vouch for his conduct before I ever met him—including King Elessar and Queen Arwen, who are very good friends with him." She waited for a moment to let Haiweth consider the connection. "Legolas has had countless opportunities to reveal his true colors, and he could have easily caused me great harm. There have been many instances when I was alone with him, with no one able to reach me if I called for help—" She checked herself, suddenly vividly aware of how Haiweth might be interpreting her words.

To her dismay, the girl's eyes were narrowing. Not for the first time, Gúthwyn regretted introducing her to Gondorian society: remarks that Haiweth would have remained oblivious to in Edoras were compromised in Minas Tirith, where they were overturned and twisted until scandal was found—or created.

Desperate for Haiweth not to ask the obvious question of why she had been alone with Legolas, which would have required far more energy to answer than she felt like she could give, she hurried on, blabbering the Valar knew what until eventually she started making sense again. "And, well—sorry, what was I saying? Legolas, something about Legolas—oh, yes. The point is, if Legolas had wanted to hurt me, or even kill me, he could have taken his pick of all the chances he has had over the years. Yet I no longer believe that he has any desire to do so. Not after all the kindness I have seen from him."

Haiweth did not respond. She glanced longingly at the door; she fidgeted in her seat; she rolled and unrolled the parchment five times in quick succession; but still she did not answer.

"Haiweth?" Gúthwyn prompted her after several minutes of silence.

"What?"

"If you are so terrified—"

"I am not terrified! I just do not like him. Every time I look at him I feel—I feel—" Haiweth drew in a ragged breath, almost a gasp for air. "I feel _wrong_, like something bad is going to happen, and I am always waiting for it but it never comes and that is even worse—I just really do not want to be around him!" Tears were spilling down her cheeks when she finished; embarrassed, she turned away and began rubbing at her eyes.

"Haiweth—" Frustrated by the restraints imposed on her by the blankets, Gúthwyn threw them off and hauled herself to the side of the bed. Her ankle was throbbing with pain by the time she came close enough to Haiweth, but she ignored it and reached over to grasp the girl's hand. "Haiweth, listen to me. _Nothing_ is going to happen to you on my watch. I promise. You are under far better protection than most girls your age, and moreover you have me. I will never let any harm come to you, do you understand me?"

She did not continue again until Haiweth had nodded. "If I thought Legolas might be a danger to you or your brother, I would not allow him in your presence. I know it is difficult for you to see this, but I do trust him. He has helped me on numerous occasions. He even saved your life, a debt I cannot possibly hope to repay. I will not ask you to befriend him, or to go out of your way to interact with him, but I truly think you would be surprised if you came to know him better. At the very least, you would realize that you have no cause to fear him. Can you try that, little one? Could you give Legolas a chance? You would not have to do it alone. I would be there with you the entire time."

Haiweth swallowed, staring down at her lap. She took a corner of her drawing and fiddled with it, creasing the parchment and then smoothing it out again. Gúthwyn waited patiently, knowing that forcing the issue would only make things worse; but as the seconds lengthened and there was no hint of a forthcoming response, she started biting her lip to prevent herself from speaking.

"I guess," Haiweth muttered at last. "I have to go, I told Hammel I would help him with something."

Gúthwyn did her best to smile, though she knew Haiweth was lying. "Thank you, little one," she said, squeezing the girl's hand just as she stood up. "This means a lot to me. And it will be good for you."

Yet as she watched Haiweth leave the room, she felt the distinct unease of someone who had not gotten quite what they wanted.

* * *

><p>Cobryn had just settled in with a book about the fall of the Northern Kingdom when the door to the library burst open and Haiweth stormed in. "Where is Hammel?" she interrogated him, craning her neck to scan the stacks.<p>

"In his room, I believe." Ever since Cobryn had reprimanded him for abandoning Gúthwyn after her injury, Hammel had been making himself scarce; he was now quick to leave the library if he saw Cobryn inside. Unsurprisingly, he had yet to visit Gúthwyn, which meant that Cobryn had another conversation to look forward to once his friend realized she was being snubbed. "Is something wrong?"

"Are you sure he is not here?" Haiweth did a rapid circuit of the main reading area, peering into corners and shadows. Her movements were agitated, and her hands were curled into fists. "Is anyone else here?"

"No, I was alone." Cobryn surreptitiously eased a hand back into his book, hoping to resume his reading. He had only been a few paragraphs away from a firsthand account of the Battle of Fornost…

Without further preamble, Haiweth grabbed a chair from the closest writing desk and dragged it over to Cobryn. Wincing at the sound of the wooden legs scraping against stone, Cobryn sighed and bookmarked his place. The defeat of Angmar, too late to save Arthedain, would have to wait.

Haiweth sat down and took a deep breath. "What is happening between Gúthwyn and Legolas?"

Cobryn could not have said what he had been expecting to hear from Haiweth. They rarely spoke alone, for beyond Gúthwyn and Hammel they had little in common; yet if he had had to guess, he might have chosen something along the lines of an inquiry about Gondorian social mores—not this. Anything but this.

"What do you mean?" he asked, shooting her a quick glance. He had not thought her particularly observant: her drawings were full of details she had wrung from her surroundings with an impressive eye, but she had always struck him as somewhat inattentive to human relations that did not immediately involve her. Which was not to reflect harshly upon her, as this was generally the case at her age—but between her and her brother, Cobryn's money would have been on Hammel to start wondering first.

"Do not patronize me!" Haiweth cried, raising Cobryn's eyebrows. He had not expected her to even be aware of the word's existence, let alone capable of using it in a sentence. Then it occurred to him that he was, in fact, being patronizing. "You know exactly what I mean, you are closer to her than anyone. Do you not find it the slightest bit odd that Legolas is spending so much time in her room, and she does not mind at all?"

"Careful, Haiweth, you are beginning to echo gossip that once focused on _my_ visits to her room." Cobryn did his best to keep a measured tone, but in truth he had been paying increased attention to Legolas and Gúthwyn's encounters. Specifically, Gúthwyn's uncharacteristic eagerness for them.

"That is different!" Haiweth said, exasperated. "She is friends with you. But have you not noticed how much she is talking about him lately? And he is always here! Do you think they—I mean, it sounds ridiculous—but today she started telling me about how _wonderful_ and _kind_ he is, and saying that she wanted me to get to know him! It sounded like she—"

"That was not her intent," Cobryn said swiftly, wanting to head Haiweth off before she worked herself into a frenzy. "That conversation was a result of her concern that you and your brother were suffering from Legolas's visits, and my suggestion that you might be more amenable to such a discussion than Hammel. In that, I think, I did not err, though I apologize for causing you distress."

"_You_ put her up to it?" Haiweth stared at him in confusion. "Why?"

"I did not put her up to anything," Cobryn corrected. "She was already debating how to broach the issue. I merely advised her as to what I thought was the best course of action. And I do mean that," he added, making eye contact. Haiweth quickly ducked her head. "It will be easier for you if you can inure yourself to his presence, which will be a recurring part in your life as long as he remains friends with Éomer and Éowyn."

"But…"

"But what?" Cobryn prompted her after a moment of silence.

"But he is so… So…" Haiweth glanced around the library, as if one of its books might supply her with the right word. "Annoying! He really is always here, just like he was always at Edoras. Although, funnily enough, now that we are here—or Gúthwyn is, rather—we never hear of him visiting Rohan! You cannot tell me that is a coincidence."

So Haiweth had picked up on Legolas's altered travel patterns. Cobryn was hard-pressed to conceal his astonishment.

"I am not stupid, you know," Haiweth said crossly, as if she were reading his mind—or perhaps he had not been as successful at containing his surprise as he had hoped. "I may not be as smart as Hammel, but I do notice things. So what is happening between Gúthwyn and Legolas?"

And that was the crux of it all, was it not? What was happening between Gúthwyn and Legolas—a question that might have been easier to answer if the former were not so oblivious.

Yet even if Gúthwyn were capable of being completely frank with him, he would not betray her confidence to others. Thus, proceeding with caution, he said, "Like you, I do not find Legolas's visits to Emyn Arnen a coincidence. Not on his part, anyway."

"And Gúthwyn?" Haiweth pressed. "Her part?"

Cobryn hesitated. While he had his own thoughts on the matter, formed independently of anything Gúthwyn had admitted to him, he did not wish to discuss her affairs so candidly with the children. "Why not ask her yourself?"

"Because she never tells me anything!" Haiweth exclaimed. "She still thinks I am too young to know about—" She reddened, and Cobryn suddenly had a very good idea of what she had been about to say. "Never mind," she muttered, grimacing at the floor. "But Gúthwyn has not even told me why Elphir ended their betrothal, so of course she would not tell me if—" Again, she stopped; but this time, all the color drained from her cheeks. "You do not think Legolas wants to marry her? That would be awful!"

"You would do well not to repeat that to Gúthwyn," Cobryn warned her.

"The part about it being awful?"

"The part about it happening in the first place. I said that Legolas's visits here were not a coincidence, but in Gúthwyn's mind they are. I can assure you that she is not contemplating marriage with him. And Legolas will be aware of that."

Haiweth exhaled. "So he will not ask?"

"At present, I cannot imagine that he would think it worth the risk."

"At present?" Alarm crept back into Haiweth's face. "Do you mean he might in the future?"

It was rare for Cobryn to regret his choice of words, but now he sighed and wished he had not been so careless. Logically, Legolas's attentions to Gúthwyn were such that, under normal circumstances, it would have been almost indecent for a marriage proposal not to follow. Yet Gúthwyn herself was a complication in the proceedings, utterly unprepared as she was for a declaration.

However… There was no denying that she had gone from merely enduring Legolas's company, to enjoying it, to actively seeking it out. And Cobryn was not about to share this with Haiweth, but he had even noticed suspect blushes on her cheeks on those (rare) occasions when they spoke of the prince. Combined with the fact that she had recently inquired about his opinion on Legolas, and her explanation for doing so had sounded more like a self-justification… it was enough to make one wonder.

But it was a long way from wonder to certainty, and the first did not always lead to the second.

In the end, he was honest with Haiweth. "I do not know," he admitted. "I do not know what might happen."

Haiweth stared at him, aghast. "But you know everything!"

Cobryn snorted. "I know many things," he allowed, "but I would certainly not presume to know everything, nor even most things."

Haiweth went silent, her eyes holding his in a silent plea. When he did not waver, she cried out in despair, "Is there no escaping him, then?"

"He is a decent person, Haiweth," Cobryn said quietly. "He has treated Gúthwyn with great kindness."

"You are just saying that because it is what Gúthwyn wants me to believe," Haiweth retorted.

"No, I am saying it because it is true. Out of the three of us, I am the least biased and therefore most capable of objectively evaluating his character. I have seen nothing that would give me pause or concern for your safety. Or Gúthwyn's."

Haiweth swallowed; for an instant, she looked on the verge of tears. Cobryn pitied her—as wonderful a caretaker as Gúthwyn in other ways was, she had done both of the children a disservice by refusing to address her fears and, consequently, theirs. He opened his mouth to try to rectify the damage, but before he could say anything Haiweth rose to her feet.

She was halfway to the door when she stopped, turned back, and asked, "Does Hammel know about this?"

"About…?"

"About Gúthwyn and—and Legolas."

"If he does, he has not mentioned anything to me," Cobryn answered guardedly. He had a feeling that Hammel would not react nearly as civilly to the speculation as Haiweth had, though perhaps the boy had been exposed to it already and was simply refusing to entertain it.

"Are you going to tell him?"

"I see no reason to inform him of rumors."

Haiweth shook her head. "He hates Legolas," she whispered. "He would be so angry if he found out. I cannot imagine what he would do."

"With any luck, that day will never come."

Haiweth did not look convinced. "Gúthwyn and Hammel are not very lucky," she said.


	94. Stories and Baths

**A/N:** Bonus points to anyone who catches the Pride & Prejudice (2005) reference. ;)

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Ninety-Four<strong>

The next morning passed in an excruciatingly slow fashion, if indeed it were actually passing and time was not, in fact, moving backwards rather than forwards. Once breakfast was cleared away, Gúthwyn faced a dearth of entertainment options. Cobryn stopped by on his way to the library, but she did not detain him for long: she suspected he was anxious to reunite with his books about the destruction of the North Kingdom, which all sounded horribly depressing to her. After he was gone, she sighed and began her second letter to Elfwine in as many days.

_My ankle is doing much better already,_ she wrote, lying through her teeth (or, in this case, her quill). While nothing could compare to the pain she had felt before and during Nestadan's treatment, its persistent ache had her shifting frequently as she sought in vain to relieve her discomfort. She was still afraid to put any weight on it, lest she undo what tenuous progress she had made; and yet she was tired of always having to keep it elevated, though Nestadan had promised that tomorrow would be the last day of this.

With another sigh, she continued, _Your good friend Leggy has been a wonderful companion while I am stuck in bed. He has been telling me many stories, and one day you shall hear them all._

Thinking of Legolas made her smile, and she realized she did have something to look forward to: he had promised to visit her again today, though he had not said when. She hoped it would be soon, as they had left off at an exciting part of the story and she was eager to learn what happened next. Yet what she was really looking forward to was the moment when she could close her eyes and slip into a dreamlike state, allowing Legolas's words to guide her distant lands and shores. When the steadiness of his voice was her only tie to the real world, her ankle did not seem to hurt nearly as much.

Unfortunately, his visit was drawing to a close, and a few days from now he would be heading back to the colony. Though she knew that he had far more important things to worry about than keeping her occupied, and she was lucky enough for the time he had already devoted to her, she could not help but wish there were a reason to extend his stay. If only she could see him for a little while longer…

_Stop being ridiculous,_ she scolded herself, embarrassed by the path her musings had taken. She would miss Legolas, of course, but there was no reason for her happiness to depend upon his presence—or rather, she hastily amended, upon the completion of his story.

A knock on the door pulled her from her thoughts. She did not have to ask who it was; somehow, she knew it would be Legolas, come to visit her as if she had summoned him with only her mind. Her spirits already lifting, she made a few quick adjustments to her appearance—the least she could do was look somewhat presentable, without rumpled clothing or hair sticking out in every direction—and invited him in.

"How is your ankle?" was the first thing he asked as he entered the room. A shaft of sunlight struck his face, and made him appear to glow; then he took another step forward, and the vision was lost.

"The same as yesterday," she admitted: he would not be fooled if she claimed improvement. "Were you at the archery range?" she inquired, noticing the bow slung about his shoulders.

He nodded. "I was trying to remember some of my old—very old—training exercises. I thought they might be useful for Elfwine."

Flushing at the thought of Legolas using his personal time in service of her nephew, when she had given him little reason to be so solicitous towards her and her kin, she said, "Elfwine will be eager to learn them. Thank you, really, for everything you have done for him. You have been truly"—she tried to stop herself, mortified, but her voice continued as if of its own volition—"truly wonderful. With him."

She could have cringed at how ridiculous she sounded, but at least Legolas did not appear to notice. Instead, the smallest amount of color came to his cheeks, and his smile indicated that he was more pleased than he wanted to let on. "Thank you, Gúthwyn, for those kind words."

She started—she had not been expecting him to speak her name—but the moment was over before she could reflect on it. Clearing his throat, Legolas suggested continuing the story; she happily took him up on the offer, and settled back against her pillows to listen. Soon her eyelids began drooping, and she felt her muscles relaxing one by one until her ears were the only sentient part of her body. Luckily, she knew Legolas would not take offense.

His gentle voice took her once more to those strange lands, describing the theft of the Silmarils by Sauron's predecessor Morgoth, the chaos that followed, the wrath of Fëanor. It occurred to her that she would not mind if the story lasted forever, so long as Legolas would always be there to tell it. His descriptions were so vivid that she could imagine herself right in the middle of the action, the sounds of battle echoing all around her; yet there was also a temperance in his narration that protected her, so she never felt the same danger as the characters.

Focused as she was on his voice, she noticed immediately when something about it changed, though for a time she could not figure out what was different.

"Legolas," she said when she did, and opened her eyes.

He stopped speaking, instantly on the alert for any sign of fatigue or pain. "Yes? Is something wrong?"

"Not with me," Gúthwyn assured him, "but your voice—it is growing hoarse. We should continue this tomorrow."

"I do not mind. I could go on for quite some time."

"Now who is pushing their limits?" Gúthwyn teased him. "And you claim Aragorn and I ought to take better care of ourselves…"

Reminded of all the times he had complained about the stubbornness of certain mortals, Legolas had little choice but to desist. "Then we shall resume tomorrow," he promised.

Gúthwyn's mood dampened as she realized she had just inadvertently dismissed Legolas. Now that he was relieved of his storytelling duties, surely he would find other activities to occupy the remainder of his day. She had nothing to offer but her own company, which was not the most stimulating at the best of times—never mind when she had been trapped in her room all morning, with nothing new to talk about besides the birds that had flown past her window.

Instead of bidding her farewell, however, Legolas shifted to a more comfortable position in his chair. He was evidently determined to see the visit through; and Gúthwyn decided to be selfish, and not invite him to leave. Of course, now she would be expected to contribute to the conversation, and she had little of interest to discuss.

Casting around for something to say, she landed on the cringeworthy, "Are you looking forward to going home?"

_Yes, excellent, remind him how boring you are and how much there is for him to do elsewhere._

"Home?" A brief frown crossed Legolas's face, and for a moment he looked as if he did not quite know what she meant. Gúthwyn wondered at that—surely it was clear she had been referring to the colony? Unless he thought she had been talking about Eryn Lasgalen. That had been his first home, after all. Perhaps she ought to have used another word. But "the colony" sounded so formal, so stilted—

"Oh, yes, the colony." Legolas's expression returned to normal. "In some ways, I am. I have much work to do before the spring."

"And in other ways?" Gúthwyn asked, curious.

"Well—" Legolas broke off, no longer looking at her. "Going back will mean leaving…" His lips drew together, and in that brief instant Gúthwyn had the startling thought that he intended to say _you_. Yet as their eyes met, his lips parted again, and he continued, "…an unfinished story. For now."

He offered a tentative smile; and she returned it, unsure of what, if anything, had just happened. Had her mind, idle from the week's confinement, started playing tricks on her?

_You must have imagined his hesitation,_ she decided. _Or, even if he _had_ been about to say 'you,' he would have gone on to add 'without the end of the story.'_

And while part of her agreed that this was the most likely explanation, another part of her felt oddly disappointed.

* * *

><p>Winter descended upon Emyn Arnen, bringing cold winds through the hills and a glittering layer of frost each morning. Gúthwyn remained indoors and took refuge in the great hall, where she could remain close to the hearth all day. There she composed stories for Elfwine, wrote to a bevy of correspondents, and entertained a steady stream of visitors.<p>

Often she was joined by Cobryn, who came with a book—or several—to provide silent companionship. Sometimes it was Haiweth, chatting away as she worked on her latest drawing; or Éowyn with Elboron, the latter of which had begun to speak in the universal non-language of babies. ("He _may_ have said 'papa' the other day," Éowyn announced, "but I am not quite certain he meant Faramir.")

Nestadan and Nanaendis also stopped by on occasion. Nestadan, of course, had kept a faithful eye on Gúthwyn's ankle, urging caution as the bone mended and her impatience grew. At last he came to believe she had made a full recovery, and on this she was inclined to agree: not once since the end of her bed rest had she felt any of the familiar twinges or aches she had begun to think of as normal.

Then there was Nanaendis, who often went to exchange herbs with Éowyn on behalf of her husband, and who could always be counted on to spare some time for Gúthwyn—especially if Elboron happened to be in her care. "They are so adorable at that age," she would remark, taking his small fingers in hers with a wistful sigh. Gúthwyn said nothing, looking forward to a time when she and Cobryn might be able to share in those memories, and eventually Nanaendis would return to herself. "But I cannot imagine having to do it all over again," she would laugh. "Galanhîr and Gilwen cause more than enough problems on their own!"

The one person who did not come was Legolas. She had hoped he would visit again soon, but then he wrote to her saying he had been called away on business for his father, and that he would not be able to continue his story for some time. Her one consolation was that he would be passing through Edoras on his way to Eryn Lasgalen, and thus would be able to see Elfwine.

She asked Legolas to give her nephew her love, and he promised he would; a month later, she received an unusually long letter from Éomer describing in great detail the archery lessons—lessons, plural!—Legolas had given Elfwine during his stay. Elfwine's letter had been rather shorter, with the simple conclusion of "Leggy is the best at everything."

At least Elfwine could have Legolas's company, if she could not; Gúthwyn cheered herself with this reminder, and went on with her life. The days became progressively shorter and darker, until the sun traced its lowest path across the sky. This pleased Faramir, who told Gúthwyn that from now on the light would linger later and later, but such optimism was but small comfort in the middle of winter.

On a cold and crisp afternoon, Éomund's daughter bundled herself up in the thickest garments she possessed and ventured forth to go riding. She and Sceoh took the same path they had traversed with Legolas on the day her ankle was broken. Fortunately, there were no such mishaps today, and they navigated the trail with ease. Gúthwyn's shoulders were hunched over against the raw, bitter wind, but they offered little protection and soon her face was numb.

She thought of how cold it was in Edoras at this time of year, and momentarily felt grateful for the milder climate of Ithilien. Then she remembered Elfwine sticking his tongue out to catch snowflakes, and she could hardly breathe for the crush of melancholy that seized her heart. She had been away from her home for more than a year—how much longer would it take?

Darkness had gathered again by the time she returned to the dwelling. Still shivering, her spirits low from the gloomy thoughts to which she had succumbed, Gúthwyn decided to indulge in a rare luxury: a scalding hot bath. She did not often request one, knowing how much extra work it caused the maids, but it was hard to feel guilty when she stepped into the water. The tub had been moved in front of the fireplace, creating a haven of warmth, and she sighed in contentment as she lowered herself to the bottom. Already she wished she could stay there forever.

Her body started to relax, the muscles loosening one by one and giving her the odd, yet not unpleasant sensation of melting. She allowed her mind to wander where it would, and unsurprisingly it led her straight to her nephews. First she thought of Elfwine, whose penmanship and vocabulary improved with each new letter she received, and a smile came to her lips as she imagined him concentrating over the parchment. Then she recalled an afternoon not long ago when Elboron had fallen asleep in her arms, and she had watched his tiny chest rise and fall with each new breath.

From the children of others, it was a natural transition to Hammel and Haiweth, and her smile faded as she thought of how successfully the former continued to ignore her. He rarely left the library, and only seemed to want to talk to Haiweth; even Cobryn had fallen out of his good graces. Yet he still sent letters once a month to Rohan, each bearing Aldeth's name, the contents of which he never divulged to anyone—though not for lack of trying on Haiweth's part.

Since the decline of her correspondence with Alphros, Haiweth had had no one to write to; but less than a month ago Gúthwyn had found a note on the girl's desk from Talathdil, the Gondorian guard who had once offered to give Haiweth a tour of Minas Tirith. Since Talathdil had been nineteen to Haiweth's fourteen, Gúthwyn had immediately suspected his intentions, and as she read the note on Haiweth's desk her alarm became even more pronounced.

Talathdil had written of the upcoming celebrations for the Gondorian new year, which now coincided with the anniversary of the destruction of the Ring, and he had expressed his hope of seeing Haiweth in the city come March. In a postscript, he had added, _Perhaps I can take you on the tour I promised you so long ago!_

Worse was the piece of parchment lying beside the note. _Dear Talathdil,_ Haiweth's answer had begun, _I was pleasantly surprised to hear from you. I had such a fun time dancing with you at the ball last year—you were my best partner!_ Those two sentences had evidently taken a great deal of time to compose, judging by all the crossed-out alternatives: the writer so very desirous of impressing the reader.

Gúthwyn had confiscated both the note and the incomplete response and brought them directly to Éowyn, determined to show her sister the detrimental effect Gondorian society was having upon Haiweth. She went prepared for a fight, but fortunately Éowyn agreed to speak with Haiweth: she, too, saw the wisdom in discouraging the girl from demonstrating such blatant preference for any young male whom she was not prepared to marry.

Haiweth had been furious. "You are such a hypocrite!" she had shrieked at Gúthwyn after. "You went around holding hands with Tun and you never married him! And you never say anything when Hammel writes to Aldeth, so why can I not write to Talathdil?"

Even now, Gúthwyn bristled at the memory. Her interactions with Tun were completely different: they had been friends since childhood, and there had never been any doubt of his trustworthiness. And as far as Aldeth was concerned, well, it was not like she had to worry about Aldeth taking advantage of Hammel, for Béma's sake. How could Haiweth not see that?

"You are the one who wants to live in Gondor," she had snapped back, "and that includes following the rules set by that society! Edoras is nothing like Minas Tirith, as you are so fond of telling me, so you would do well to remember that!"

At first, Haiweth had not been able to form a response; then she had drawn herself up and retorted, "As if you care about that! You just do not want me to be around Talathdil because you hate men—except men from Rohan, of course, only _they_ can do no wrong in your eyes—and because _you_ never married and therefore you think nobody else should! Either that, or you are just jealous."

At that point, Éowyn had thought it best to intervene; but the damage had been done, and it was a week before Gúthwyn and Haiweth spoke to each other again. The only good thing to come out of the whole debacle was Haiweth's realization—confessed to Éowyn, who reported it later to Gúthwyn—that a young woman of such precarious social standing could not afford to enter into a private correspondence with an unattached male. "She knew you were right the whole time, of course, but she just did not want to agree with you." Éowyn remarked. "You have to admit, baby sister, the situation might have been handled more delicately. And she did have a point."

"About _what_?" Could Éowyn have been referring to her distrust of Gondorian men, which Haiweth thought unjust? But that was ridiculous—none of them were answerable to Éomer, and therefore none of them could be expected to have Haiweth's best interests in mind. Or had Éowyn meant her aversion to marriage? Yet was so wrong with trying to prevent Haiweth from entering a lifetime of slavery in her own bedroom? All she wanted was for the children to be safe.

"About, well…" An uncomfortable look had crossed Éowyn's face. "About all of it."

Gúthwyn had since mended her relationship with Haiweth: they had both apologized, if rather stiffly, for what they had yelled in the heat of the moment, and but for a lingering sense of unease it was as if nothing had ever happened. Yet Gúthwyn had continued to puzzle over Éowyn's comment; and now, as she gazed at the flames from her bath, she found herself dwelling upon it once more.

_I am not a hypocrite,_ she thought, frowning. _And I am not jealous of anyone's marriage. Haiweth and Éowyn could not be further from the truth._

She slid under the water, closing her eyes against the heat and the memories of her sister's pitying expression, until there was no air left in her lungs and she was forced back to the surface.

_Neither of them has any idea what they are talking about._ She was perfectly content on her own. She had means and independence, which was more than she could say for most women. What reason did she have to envy someone who had shackled themselves to an inescapable master? Éowyn had been lucky, she would allow: Faramir had not taken advantage of the power bestowed upon him as a husband. And yet, with the sole exception of Elboron, there was nothing about Éowyn's circumstances that appealed to her.

_Your sister has someone to wrap her in his arms and kiss her the way you wish Borogor could kiss you,_ a nasty voice reminded her. _By day you surround yourself with friends and family, but at night the other side of your bed is cold and empty. You feel it then, do you not? How lonely you will be as the days stretch on and all those children who are not yours abandon you one by one?_

Gúthwyn flinched. It was not true—the voice was wrong—she would be marrying Cobryn in a few years, and together they would bring life into the world. Eternal solitude was not her doom.

_A loveless match, a marriage of convenience!_ the voice sneered. _Can Cobryn give you what you want? Can he make you feel the way you do whenever you close your eyes and imagine yourself with Borogor? Go on, do it now—_

Before Gúthwyn was even aware that she was following the voice's instructions, her eyelids had fluttered shut. Borogor appeared before her, his outline solid and familiar—yet her heart ached when she realized he was blurred at the edges, as though the years had taken their toll on his memory. Then he came closer, and she saw to her relief that his features remained sharp as ever; they, at least, had not faded with time. His calloused palms cupped her cheeks, surprisingly soft, and she gazed into the eyes she knew almost as well as her own.

Then he bent down and kissed her.

Gúthwyn's breathing grew shallow as the fantasy deepened, as his hands slid into her hair and sent goose bumps skittering across her skin. She pulled him closer, reveling in his warmth, in the sturdiness of his frame. She tried to picture Cobryn in his place and could not: there was simply not enough of her friend to fill her arms, not enough flesh and muscle to hold her tight. He did not set fire to every nerve and fiber of her being the way Borogor was now, his lips warm and his tongue hot against hers.

_I love you,_ her imaginary self tried to say, but she was cut off by her own gasp as his mouth settled upon her exposed throat. The flames continued to spread, filling her stomach with a pleasurable roiling, and then fanned even lower.

Gúthwyn shifted, uncomfortably aware that the last part had actually started to happen. Yet in her mind she was not deterred, and she leaned further into the kiss, desperate for she knew not what. Something, anything, _more_—yes, that was it, more. There was too much space between them, and she needed it gone. His skin had to sear and meld with hers, had to brand her as his and only his. She reached for his shirt…

And then the real Gúthwyn froze. Where was this going? What did she want to happen?

The question tore at her, mocked her. _What do you want?_ it asked, and she could not answer. _What do you want? What do you want?_

Borogor was waiting patiently for her decision, but she was too afraid to make one. A loud buzzing sound had engulfed her mind, banishing all rational thought, and as the seconds lengthened she felt the familiar beginnings of a panic attack. Borogor wavered and vanished; she was alone again in the bath, and the water had become lukewarm. Shivering, she stepped out of the tub and wrapped herself in one of the towels that had been heating beside the fire.

She dried off quickly, embarrassed by the tricks her mind had played on her. In particular, the moment where she had moved to disrobe Borogor lingered in her thoughts, staining her cheeks bright red. How could she have been so ensnared by this vision, one she knew to be false, as to lose herself completely?

_You would not have been so bold if he had actually been there,_ she reassured herself. Enjoying the act of love was Éowyn's baffling lot, not hers, and she was not looking forward to her wedding night with Cobryn.

And yet, she could not deny how wonderful that imaginary kiss had felt…

"There you are," Éowyn said half an hour later, when Gúthwyn ran into her while leaving her chambers. "I was looking for you, we are having dinner earlier than usual—" Her eyes darted to Gúthwyn's damp hair. "Were you taking a bath? I overheard one of the maids complaining about having to carry so many buckets."

Still flushed from a combination of the bath, the fire, and her own wandering thoughts, Gúthwyn's skin felt even hotter beneath her sister's gaze. "I am sorry," she tried to apologize. "Next time I will not—"

"Nonsense, baby sister," Éowyn said with a laugh, "you hardly give them any work as it is. Did you brush your hair?"

Gúthwyn nodded. _More like I beat it into submission._ Thanks to her ride earlier, the tresses had become a wild nest of tangles, snares, and even a few pieces of hay. It had required a surprising amount of strength to wrench the comb through her hair, and it had not helped that she was long overdue for a trim.

"I love this gown on you," Éowyn continued. "It is a nice change from your usual grey, and it brings out your eyes."

Gúthwyn had the fleeting sense that it was odd for Éowyn to be so focused on her appearance; but then again she did not often wear this dress, which was a stunning blue with thin skeins of silver and had, in fact, been a gift from Éowyn (with some designing help from Haiweth).

As she followed her sister to the hall, her musings circled back to her imagined tryst with Borogor. What had it meant, that her mind had wandered so freely? Had some part of her that actually wanted such intimacy been lurking all this time in the depths of her conscious, only to rise to the surface when she was least expecting it?

_Perhaps,_ another voice suggested, _you are over-contemplating the matter._ Was it normal for people to have such embarrassing daydreams? She did not want to think of what depravities occurred in the thoughts of men, even her brother and Cobryn and… no, surely not Hammel, she would not give it a moment's consideration. But did women ever have their minds invaded thus? It would be far too embarrassing to ask someone, even Éowyn…

"Well, here we are," said Éowyn, and it was then that Gúthwyn looked up and saw Legolas waiting for them at the table.

As her astonished eyes met his, she was aware of all her troubled thoughts being erased from her mind, until the only thing left was incandescent happiness.


	95. Taunts and Tidings

**A/N:** Hi, everyone! It's been a while - I was on vacation with limited computer access - and now I have a semi-important notice.

As you all (hopefully) know, the third Hobbit trailer was recently released, which means we're getting closer to the end of the trilogy. This seems like a good time to address the looming issue of Tauriel, whose fate is still unknown.

I'm going to be blunt: I love Tauriel. I think she's awesome, I'm delighted that Evangeline Lilly isn't taking anyone's shit over her, and I am praying to every conceivable deity that she survives the Battle of Five Armies. (Because, honestly, it would kind of defeat the point of adding a female character to help correct the gender imbalance if all you did was stick her into a love triangle and then kill her.) But since Tauriel isn't Tolkien's creation, we won't know what happens to her until the final film is released.

The reason this is relevant is because for several years now, before Tauriel was invented, before they even confirmed that The Hobbit was happening with Peter Jackson at the helm, I've had a new female character waiting in the wings. (Waiting... very... patiently.) This character was going to be an Elf and a friend of Legolas, and she had a small yet pivotal role in Gúthwyn's story. When Tauriel's character bio was released, and the trailer for the second Hobbit movie came out, it was as if Peter Jackson & co. had tailor-made her for the still-unnamed character in my mind. She was exactly what I needed, but better. The only problem is, I have no way of knowing if she'll be alive by the time my story takes place!

Alas, the scene in which I was planning to introduce the new character finally came up earlier this summer, so I had no choice but to write it without having seen the third Hobbit movie. It's done, actually; it's all nicely typed up in my Word document, no doubt with plenty of editing in the future, but for now I'm happy with how it's turned out.

And you know what? (The **tl;dr** crowd can start here.) I've decided, fuck it, I'm keeping Tauriel, I don't care if she dies in The Battle of the Five Armies. In fact, if she does, whoever was responsible for that decision can step on all the Legos. And in the meantime I will go on ignoring her death, and she will continue to be amazing in this series. Because if there's one thing you can't have enough of, it's solid female characters.

So, to make a very long story short, I just wanted to give everyone the heads-up: if Tauriel dies in the third Hobbit movie, and then I post a chapter where she's alive and well, it shall be very much intentional. This may not be an issue at all, but in case it is... I'm hoping that if I make the announcement now, there will be minimal confusion/"wtf" reactions.

Now that that's out of the way, we can get on with the story. :) To recap: Gúthwyn came to the dinner table and received a pleasant surprise.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Ninety-Five<strong>

Amazement and confusion were not far behind. What was Legolas doing in Emyn Arnen, when she had thought he was in Eryn Lasgalen for the foreseeable future? Had anyone mentioned, even in passing, that he was to be their guest again? No, she was certain she would have remembered. Thank the Valar she had washed and dressed herself properly! No wonder Éowyn had commented—she must have been relieved.

_And so am I,_ Gúthwyn thought, blushing to imagine how awful she would have looked if she had come to dinner straight from her ride with Sceoh.

Legolas swiftly rose to his feet. His chair made a loud scraping noise against the flagstones, causing everyone around him to glance up. Gúthwyn had enough time to recognize Faramir, Elboron, Haiweth, Trelan, and Faelon before the source of the disturbance was identified, and they all turned towards her and Éowyn.

It occurred to her that she ought to greet their guests rather than stand there as if struck dumb, especially now that their expectant gazes were upon her. Flushing, she recovered her pace and followed Éowyn to the table, trying to rehearse what she would say. Something proper, something eloquent—

"What are you doing here?" she blurted out, and immediately wanted to kick herself.

A mark of his bearing, Legolas's expression did not waver, rude though her question had been. "My business with my father concluded sooner than I had thought. I am afraid, however, that in my eagerness to return I arrived with less warning than usual."

"Not at all," Éowyn assured him, "Trelan gave us more than enough time to prepare. He came while you were out," she explained to Gúthwyn, before smiling again at Legolas and taking her place beside Faramir. She and the Steward exchanged a soft kiss; when they pulled apart, Elboron was already reaching for his mother.

Gúthwyn remained standing. Her eyes roved around the table, and she quickly realized that Trelan and Faelon were the only Elves who had shown up with Legolas. "Did you not bring a larger company to Eryn Lasgalen?" she asked, wondering if Raniean had finally put his foot down and refused to make even one more journey to mortal lands.

"I did," Legolas replied, "but some… elected to go ahead to the colony."

_Good riddance,_ she thought. Legolas seemed somewhat discomfited, as if he were afraid he had offended her, but she would hardly miss Raniean's scowling features. Still, she thought it best to smooth the moment over for his sake, and in the silence that followed the best she could manage was an oddly breathless, "I am glad you are here."

She caught Haiweth's eye and suddenly felt embarrassed by the admission. Fumbling for her chair, she sat down in a rather clumsy way, desperate for the security of being the same height as everyone else. She very much wanted them all to stop watching her.

"Thank you." Legolas returned to his seat with far more grace than her. "I am grateful for your hospitality."

The awkwardness of the exchange had made it exceedingly difficult for Gúthwyn to meet Legolas's gaze; but since he did not sound as if he were laughing at her, and other conversations had sprung up around them as their fellow diners began serving themselves, she felt emboldened enough to look up. She was relieved to find no trace of scorn in his expression, and to behold a smile as friendly as ever.

Unfortunately, the same could not be said for Haiweth, whose peculiar stare remained fixed on Gúthwyn. Trying to ignore it, Éomund's daughter glanced around the table. Across from her and at Legolas's side, Trelan and Faelon were chatting in a strange mix of Westron and Elvish, the latter dominating the former. To her right, Éowyn and Faramir were attempting to convince Elboron to taste the carrots that had been softened especially for him, but to no avail. They laughed merrily when his face twisted at the offerings, and even harder when he blinked at them in confusion.

But there were more empty seats than usual tonight…

"Where are Hammel and Cobryn?" she asked, turning back to Haiweth.

Before Haiweth could respond, they heard a door opening behind them. Hammel stepped inside, his cheeks pink from the cold and his hair nothing short of a disaster. Cobryn was only a few paces behind, but Hammel seemed determined not to acknowledge his presence—though it was clear Cobryn had managed to tell him about Legolas, for he did not appear surprised in the least to find Elves at the table. His features were dark, however, and he practically stomped his way over to them.

Gúthwyn smiled gratefully at Cobryn, who was lagging at a more courteous pace, then turned her attention to Hammel. "Would you like to wash up? There is no rush," she told him, trying not to wince at how unruly his hair had gotten.

Hammel saw right through her feeble attempt to get him presentable for their guests. "No," he said, taking his usual seat next to Haiweth and leveling a ferocious glare at Legolas.

Gúthwyn did her best to keep a level tone. "Where were you?"

"Out."

"Out where?"

"Does it matter?"

Haiweth let out an exasperated sigh. "Would it kill you to answer a question properly for once?" she demanded, switching to Rohirric. "Why do you always have to act so mysterious?"

"Fine," Hammel snapped, sending Haiweth a look that seemed icier than the outside. Then he directed it at Gúthwyn, who felt a sudden chill in her bones. "I was at… I was at his grave. The one you never managed to show us."

Gúthwyn felt her eyes widen in horror, the air disappear from her lungs. The last thing she had been expecting was a reminder of Borogor; for Hammel to bring him up now, in front of everyone, was cruel in a way he understood perhaps all too well. "Why were you there?" she finally choked out, trying to ignore Legolas, Trelan, and Faelon—who were watching in astonishment, unaware though they were of what was being discussed.

"Because it is quiet," Hammel answered nastily. "There are never any visitors, one might say it is quite neglected."

Gúthwyn did not know what she might have done in that moment, had Haiweth not gripped her hand under the table and stared coldly at Hammel. "You forgot to say hello to our guests," she told her brother, in a tone that brooked no room for disobedience.

Unfortunately, Hammel was not so easily cowed, and the mention of Legolas had inflamed him once more. "Why is he here? Does he have nothing better to do?"

"Hammel!" Even though Legolas remained oblivious to the barb, uttered as it was in Rohirric, Gúthwyn was mortified by the boy's rudeness. At least it helped her regain her footing; she could not dwell on Borogor when she had the duties of a hostess to perform. Reverting to the Common Tongue, she said sharply, "Please use a language we can all understand."

Hammel rolled his eyes, then shot at Legolas, "Why are you here? I thought you were supposed to be in Mirkwood."

"Eryn Lasgalen," Gúthwyn corrected him, her cheeks burning. She had no doubt that Hammel knew perfectly well what Legolas's home was now called.

"Whichever," was Hammel's acidic response.

Cobryn reached the table then, and placed his hand on Hammel's shoulder as if seeking support while he lowered himself into a chair; but Gúthwyn saw his fingers flex into the boy's sleeve, issuing a silent warning.

"I was in Eryn Lasgalen," Legolas agreed. His voice was as pleasant as ever, and nothing about his countenance suggested annoyance with Hammel's behavior, which made Gúthwyn feel even worse. "But I did not have to stay as long as I thought I would, so I came back early."

"Wonderful."

The table jostled ever so slightly beneath Gúthwyn, and she suspected that Hammel had been kicked by both Haiweth and Cobryn. He grimaced, but desisted.

Legolas simply smiled, far more composed than Gúthwyn would have been if their positions had been reversed. "I hope you and Haiweth are doing well."

Neither of the children answered, and a strained silence fell at their end of the table. Gúthwyn glanced in Éowyn's direction, hoping for rescue, but her sister was occupied with Elboron and unable to devote her attentions elsewhere. It was up to her to salvage the situation; Legolas's impeccable manners had shamed her into at least trying.

Taking a deep breath, she said, "Haiweth's drawings get better by the day. And Hammel…" She had no idea what Hammel was doing, apart from preferring books to human contact. He smirked at her obvious hesitation and made no move to help her as she finished weakly, "Hammel is continuing his studies."

"I am glad to hear it."

"I think"—Hammel spoke in Rohirric once again—"the better question is, why is he pretending to care?"

"I think you should leave," said Cobryn.

Hammel was taken aback, but he recovered and answered scornfully, "You are not my father, as much as you want to be."

"Hammel, shut up!" Haiweth squeaked in dismay. Her cry drew Éowyn and Faramir's notice; they glanced up from Elboron, their brows furrowing as they tried to figure out what was causing the disturbance.

Cobryn's reply was as calm as the one before it, but Gúthwyn flinched at the hardness of his voice. "If you do not get up from this table right now, I will drag you from the room myself."

For a horrible moment, Gúthwyn feared that he and Hammel might come to blows—and worse, that it might not be so easy for her friend to subdue him. While Cobryn was deceptively capable in combat, Hammel was now a full-grown man and had the advantage of knowing his opponent's physical weakness. If he decided to test Cobryn's threat…

After a long, terse silence, Hammel shoved back his chair and stalked out of the hall, his back rigid with anger and defiance. Next to Gúthwyn, Haiweth exhaled in relief, and let a small shiver ripple through her limbs.

"Is everything all right?"

Gúthwyn reluctantly turned away from Hammel's retreating figure. Legolas was watching her in concern; on either side of him, Trelan and Faelon were trying their best to do the opposite. "H-He decided to go back to his room," she lied, not daring to even glance at Éowyn and Faramir. She did not want to know what they thought of her for being so incapable of controlling Hammel. "I-I am sorry for his behavior.

Legolas assured her that she had no need to apologize, but Gúthwyn was relieved when Éowyn took advantage of the lull to redirect the conversation. For the next several minutes, Legolas answered her questions about the affairs of the Woodland Realm. Gúthwyn learned that much of his business with Thranduil had consisted of attending trade fairs at Dale and Erebor. "Normally my father sends representatives," he explained, "but Thorin was insistent this time, and—"

"Who is Thorin?" Haiweth blurted out before she could stop herself.

Legolas was just as surprised as Haiweth to hear her speak, and it was a moment before he gave his answer. "Thorin Stonehelm is the current King under the Mountain. He succeeded Dáin Ironfoot, who was slain during the War of the Ring."

"Oh." Gúthwyn suspected Haiweth had never heard of Dáin, either, but she knew the girl would not venture any additional questions. When Legolas glanced at her, she nodded, indicating that he could continue.

"So, my father felt he could not decline without causing insult. Since he can only tolerate so much Dwarvish company, however"—Legolas's eyes sparkled—"I thought it best to volunteer as a buffer. By the end of the first week, I realized I had missed my true calling as a diplomat."

Haiweth and Elboron were the only ones who did not laugh. "It was my understanding that relations between Elves and Dwarves had improved since the War," Faramir remarked, still chuckling, "but I suppose some things never change."

"For the most part, they have," Legolas replied. "For instance, my father looks only mildly appalled when I mention Gimli."

Gúthwyn nearly choked on her bread. The noise caught Legolas's attention, and—did he? Yes, she was sure of it—he winked at her before continuing, "Nevertheless, increased contact between our peoples has revealed that neither of us are adept at discerning between the other race's genders, which as you can imagine has caused some unforeseen complications…"

Éowyn, Faramir, and Cobryn were roaring with laughter at this point; even Haiweth had a small smile tugging at her lips.

"And how is Gimli?" Gúthwyn asked upon regaining her breath. "Speaking of Dwarvish women, has he settled down yet?"

"Glóin would certainly prefer him to," said Legolas, "which may be the only similarity between our fathers. From what I have observed, it would not be difficult for Gimli to find a wife if he so desired" (Gúthwyn had a sudden vision of bearded Dwarf women throwing themselves at Gimli), "but his thoughts lie elsewhere. He has told me that the Dwarves have begun to murmur about mining in Moria once more, now that the Balrog is gone."

"Moria?" Gúthwyn echoed, flinching at the name. She had not thought of it for years—but then she had little reason to dwell upon her dark recollections of that tomb.

"Have they learned nothing?" Faramir murmured, equally astonished.

"It is not a course of action I would advise myself," Legolas replied, "but Moria—or Khazad-dûm, as they call it—was the ancient seat of Durin the Deathless, the first of the Seven Fathers of the Dwarves. Though it is but a ruin of its former self, the Dwarves have not forgotten it, and Gimli says they are drawn to it as my kin are drawn to the Sea. And, like my people, their stay in Middle-earth is coming to an end. I cannot blame them for wanting to live out the remainder of their days in the home of their ancestors, preserving the memory of a time when the halls were brighter and fuller."

Gúthwyn stared at him in dismay, and felt a chill sweep through her bones as she imagined the echoes in that cavernous space. This was the first she had ever heard of such a fate for the Dwarves. "But—but why? They are not leaving, are they? I thought they were prosperous in Erebor?"

Legolas shook his head. "In terms of gold, mayhap, but their numbers become fewer with each generation. There are two men for every women, if not more, and many from both genders are disinclined towards marriage. Children are a rare sight in the halls of Erebor, and there are fewer of them than there ever were before. I fear this Age will be their last."

Gúthwyn swallowed. She could not say she had interacted with many Dwarves apart from Gimli, but the thought of a world without them saddened her. Was there truly such a high price to pay for the defeat of Sauron, for the triumph of Men? Were all the other Free Peoples doomed to fade away, leaving her kind to stand alone?

"Worry not," Legolas said softly; he had marked the change in her mood. "The time has not yet come for them to reclaim their home and commence their final watch. Many lives of Men will pass before the last Dwarf departs this world."

_Including mine,_ Gúthwyn thought. _And Éowyn's. And Éomer's._ Far from reassuring her, Legolas's words had made the future seem even gloomier.

"Legolas, how did you find your visit to Rohan?" Éowyn asked, breaking the silence.

The mood lightened considerably—Éowyn always seemed to have the right thing to say. As a matter of fact, Gúthwyn herself had been waiting for a gap in the conversation to ask Legolas that very question, not wanting to come across as disinterested in his news from Eryn Lasgalen.

"It was wonderful," Legolas answered. He glanced at Gúthwyn, and something in his smile told her he knew how impatient she had been to get to this point. "Éomer was a most generous host, as always. It seems he has been kept quite busy with a number of harvest reforms. They have just begun implementing some of them for next year, and there have been some complaints about the extra work, but all agree that it will benefit them in the long term."

Gúthwyn was relieved to hear that. Her brother had always worried about the harvest, as one bad crop return at the wrong time could have a crippling effect on the poorer villages. The past decade had been especially troublesome, since the majority of Rohan's crops came from the Westfold—which had been all but destroyed by Saruman's Uruk-hai on their march to Helm's Deep. Only in recent years had the region begun to recover some trace of its former economy.

"I am glad Éomer was able to devise a solution to the matter," Éowyn said. "I know he has long desired to improve upon the old ways. It is to his credit that he was able to do so after the damage Rohan sustained during the War."

Legolas inclined his head. "Indeed. Though he told me most of the reforms were Lothíriel's ideas."

Éowyn's lips pursed at that, and Faramir looked suddenly uncomfortable; but Gúthwyn's heart leapt, and she dared to hope…

"How is Lothíriel?" she asked Legolas, wondering if he would understand the real inquiry behind her words.

"The queen is… well," Legolas replied, and the hesitation in his voice told her everything: Éomer and Lothíriel had not reconciled. "She spends much of her time in her chambers. I believe her Rohirric has improved."

It took a second for Legolas's offhand comment to sink in; when it did, her breath caught in her throat. "It has? That is wonderful!"

She felt, rather than saw, Cobryn roll his eyes.

"Aye," Legolas confirmed, "she was noticeably less hesitant when she addressed the servants. And Elfwine now speaks to her in both languages."

"Well." Éowyn glanced at Gúthwyn, torn between amusement and disapproval. "Baby sister, it looks as if your stories have begun to accomplish what you intended for them to do."

Gúthwyn tried to catch Cobryn's eye, but was unsuccessful. "I am not surprised," she said pointedly. "But it pleases me all the same." Turning to Legolas, she asked, "And how is Elfwine? Éomer mentioned that you gave him some archery lessons."

"He did very well," Legolas reported. "He has been practicing ever since his visit here, and it showed. He was able to hit the target every time, and once he was only a hair's width from the center."

Gúthwyn glowed with pride. "I wish I had been there to see it." She had heard a great deal about this particular shot, Éomer and Elfwine having both written their accounts of it in previous letters. Elfwine's had even included a bungled description of the arrow's angle and speed, as if he were repeating an explanation he had only partially understood.

"He asked about you often," Legolas replied. "He shared some of your stories with me. I particularly enjoyed the one about the adventurous oliphaunt."

Gúthwyn felt, on the one hand, mildly embarrassed that Elfwine had subjected Legolas to such a recitation—she hoped he had not bored his visitor. On the other hand, Legolas's grin set her cheeks aflame, and the warmth was not unpleasant. At least he seemed to have been entertained by her tale, silly though it was.

"Was he well?" she inquired, remembering what Legolas had said, or more accurately not said, about Éomer and Lothíriel's relationship. "Was he happy?"

"He was quiet during meals," Legolas admitted. "But"—Gúthwyn had bitten her lip—"he enjoys spending time alone with each of his parents. Éomer supervises most of his military training, and Lothíriel is very involved with his lessons."

Gúthwyn knew Legolas was trying to lift her spirits, and to some extent he had succeeded. She was glad to learn, at any rate, that Elfwine had been able to balance his time with his parents, but it sounded as if he were still painfully attuned to the tension between them. Éomer claimed he was behaving civilly towards Lothíriel, though of course his perception of the matter could not be entirely trusted.

"I expect you will be able to ask him yourself soon," Legolas said, prompting Gúthwyn to glance at him in confusion. As far as she was aware, there were no plans for either of her siblings to visit one another in the near future. It would likely be some time before Éowyn and Faramir were comfortable traveling such a long distance with Elboron, and Éomer rarely had the opportunity to set aside his duties and leave the kingdom.

"Does Éomer intend to visit?" asked Éowyn, who seemed just as perplexed as Gúthwyn.

"Gúthwyn will remember," Legolas answered, looking at her, "that my father has recently taken it upon himself to, ah, _suggest_ that I host a feast in the spring for our kin. He wishes to show our people that I am a capable leader in all aspects: in warfare, in diplomacy, and in hospitality. The latter, he believes, I have neglected of late."

"But you are always an excellent host!" Gúthwyn cried in astonishment. Éowyn made a similar noise of dissent.

Faramir, however, chuckled. "I do not think our visits count in the eyes of the one evaluating."

"He did have a larger gathering in mind," Legolas conceded. "Though I would not be surprised if he were simply looking for an excuse to have a feast, and decided I would do quite nicely. He does enjoy his parties."

Gúthwyn gave him a skeptical look. She could not imagine the Elvenking participating in something so frivolous, let alone his fellow merrymakers being able to enjoy themselves in his presence. Perhaps eternal exposure had made his subjects immune to his piercing stare.

"In any event," Legolas continued, "I am happy to comply, for as much as I make light of the matter I know that what he says is true. Yet while he may have decided upon the occasion, the guest list has been left to my discretion. I would therefore be honored, Lord Faramir and Lady Éowyn, if you and your household would join that of Lord Éomer's in attending."

Éowyn and Faramir gladly accepted the invitation. "Has your father been informed that he is to expect Men among the partygoers?" Faramir inquired, a hint of mischief in his voice.

"Of course." By contrast, Legolas's tone was all innocence. "It is the Dwarves he has not yet heard about."

Faramir nearly choked on his drink, and Éowyn's laugher doubled as she took the goblet from his shaking hands.

"I-Is that true?" Gúthwyn asked Legolas uneasily. While Éowyn and Faramir could find amusement in the situation, she doubted Thranduil would have the same sense of humor.

"'I presume you will wish to invite your Dwarf companion and his friends,'" Legolas said in a startlingly accurate imitation of his father's disapproving tone. "'Do as you must, but if another one of my robes falls victim to their penchant for throwing their food instead of eating it...'"

Éowyn was in tears at this point, and Haiweth—much to her chagrin—had given in to a fit of giggles. Now that Gúthwyn knew Legolas would not have to face Thranduil's wrath, she also could laugh, imagining the formidable Elvenking's expression as he was caught in a culinary crossfire.

"It sounds like this is to be quite the gathering," Faramir remarked when they had all calmed down somewhat. Elboron gurgled up at him, visibly relieved that the grown-ups had stopped behaving so strangely.

Legolas nodded. "My father is bringing a large retinue, and Gimli will be arriving with a dozen or so Dwarves. I have also invited Lord Aragorn and Lady Arwen, and I expect they shall—"

"Queen Arwen is coming?" Haiweth demanded breathlessly. She paled when Legolas's eyes met hers, looking very much as though she regretted having spoken.

"I hope she will," Legolas answered with a gentle smile. "The feast will take place after the Gondorian new year, so it will not conflict with the celebrations in Minas Tirith."

"Good." Haiweth let out a sigh of relief and turned back to her plate, steadfastly avoiding Legolas's gaze.

"The sons of Elrond will also be there," Legolas continued, when it became apparent that Haiweth had no intention of speaking again. "Finally, if my letters reach them in time, I hope Sam, Merry, and Pippin can be persuaded to make the journey."

This announcement was received with delight by his listeners, as no one, not even Aragorn, had seen the Hobbits since the War.

"Oh, I ought to write to Éomer," Gúthwyn said suddenly. "He has to bring Halwend."

"Who?" Legolas and Faramir wanted to know, at the same time as Éowyn asked, "Why?"

"He is one of Éomer's men," Gúthwyn explained, her cheeks heating as she realized that the matter was likely of little importance to anyone but her. "He is fascinated with the Ents, so I put him in contact with Merry, who sent him some of his writings on the subject. It would be wonderful if they could meet…"

She fell into thoughtful silence, already planning their encounter. She was so preoccupied with the matter that she lost the thread of the conversation for a while, and by the time she caught it again the subject had long since been changed. The rest of the evening passed enjoyably, save for Haiweth's persistent silence, and when everyone rose to depart for bed she found herself wishing the night could have lasted longer—she would have liked to keep asking Legolas about his visit to her home, or to hear more of his stories from Erebor and Dale.

He approached her while Éowyn and Faramir were busy with a cranky Elboron; Haiweth saw him coming before Gúthwyn did, and slipped away with a muttered "goodnight." Gúthwyn watched her go, frowning.

"I am sorry." Legolas had followed her gaze.

"Nay, it is not your fault." _It is mine for failing her,_ she thought with a sigh. How many of Haiweth's fears could have been laid to rest if she had been open with the girl about Haldor, rather than reticent?

"Are you all right?"

Gúthwyn drew her eyes back to Legolas. "Yes, thank you. I am glad you are with us again."

She blushed a little at the boldness of her words—Cobryn was nearby, and undoubtedly able to hear everything—yet Legolas did not seem to mind. "I have been looking forward to my return ever since I left," he told her; and while she did not doubt that he was merely being kind, she could not help but smile.

"I know you are leaving again tomorrow," she began, remembering what he had said during dinner, "but if there is time—and if you do not mind—could we continue the story of the jewels? Even if only for a little while?"

She was surprised by how much she wanted him to say yes.

"It would be my pleasure," he replied, and she let out a breath she had not realized she was holding.

"Thank you," she murmured, making an ineffective attempt to stay the grin that had formed at his words. She must have looked like an idiot. "Until tomorrow, then."

"Until tomorrow," he agreed. "Goodnight, Gúthwyn."

He went to take his leave of Éowyn and Faramir, who had finally succeeded in coaxing Elboron away from the table. Gúthwyn stayed where she was, still smiling, until she became aware that someone was standing beside her. She started, even though she already knew it was Cobryn, and turned to see him raising his eyebrows at her.

"What?" she asked, somewhat more defensively than she had intended.

"Not a word passed my lips," Cobryn pointed out.

"And yet, somehow it seems as if you have managed to say a great deal anyway," Gúthwyn grumbled. Not caring to probe further—she had a feeling she would not like what she found—she bade him goodnight and left the hall, diverting her thoughts to the far more pleasant contemplation of her upcoming plans with Legolas.


	96. Widening Rifts

**Chapter Ninety-Six**

Shortly after breakfast the following morning, Gúthwyn had a visit from Haiweth. Having just barely closed the door behind her, the girl asked without preamble, "Do Hammel and I have to go to the feast?"

"What feast?" Gúthwyn had been composing a letter to Éomer, and was in the middle of a line that had already been rewritten several times; distracted, she resigned herself to losing her train of thought entirely and looked back up at Haiweth.

"Legolas's feast," Haiweth said impatiently. "The one his father is making him host. Do we have to go?"

"Oh." Gúthwyn considered the matter, frowning. It was not her desire to force the children to attend, yet surely it would be noticeable if they did not. If it were just Legolas, she could be confident of his understanding; but Thranduil had already commented upon the children's absence from the colony, and she did not want to risk offending him.

"Éowyn says we should go." Haiweth seemed frustrated by Gúthwyn's lack of an immediate response. "She says it might be seen as an insult if people notice we are avoiding the Elves. And she says it would be a good time for me to go, since Queen Arwen will be there."

Gúthwyn inwardly cringed, remembering how often Éowyn had tried to convince her to let Arwen take Haiweth as one of her maidens. As inclined as Gúthwyn was to separate Haiweth from the queen, however, she knew Éowyn had spoken wisely. "I am sorry, little one, but I am afraid I have to agree with Éowyn." When Haiweth's shoulders slumped, she hastened to assure her, "It will not be so bad. Legolas has invited many humans, so the number of Elves will seem even fewer in comparison. And you will get to see Gimli and the Hobbits, do you remember them? You met Gimli at Helm's Deep, he was helping to repair…"

Her voice trailed off beneath Haiweth's withering look; clearly, the girl did not consider Gimli and the Hobbits' presence to be much of a consolation. "Well," Gúthwyn continued at length, "I am sure the Elves will not bother you—"

"I do not care about the _Elves_," Haiweth said cuttingly, leaving little doubt as to whom she did care about.

Gúthwyn took a deep breath, knowing she could not push too hard on this issue. "Legolas will be very busy while we are there. He may not have much time for us." Haiweth raised her eyebrows in a rather pointed gesture, one that Gúthwyn did not want to examine. Quickly, she added, "Besides, Elfwine will clamor for much of his attention, no doubt."

"Good, then Elfwine can talk to him." The emphasis on _Elfwine_ was unmistakable.

"I will not make you converse with him," Gúthwyn said quietly, "but I wish you could see that he means us no harm. I thought you agreed to be more open-minded about him the last time we discussed this."

"That does not mean I have to like him."

Gúthwyn decided that it was not worth arguing the matter, not when Haiweth was clearly prepared to be as combative as possible. "That is true," she relented, sighing. "Be as it may, Éowyn thinks it would be proper for you to attend, and as much as I wish to I cannot say otherwise. I know it is not what you wanted to hear, and for that I am sorry."

"It is not your fault," Haiweth mumbled, though her voice conveyed another story.

* * *

><p>"I felt horrible," Gúthwyn confessed to Cobryn a little while later, as they sat together at a table on the porch. She had sought him out after Haiweth's departure, needing assurance that she was doing the right thing—or at least the wrong thing for the right reasons. "She obviously does not want to go, even if the queen will be there, and I hate the thought of making her and Hammel so uncomfortable."<p>

Cobryn shook his head. "Discomfort in one's life is inevitable. Think of all the times your presence has been required at a function where half the guests thought you were a harlot. At least Hammel and Haiweth will not have to face that in Legolas's house."

"I know… I know they will be safe, and that I will not have to worry about any harm coming to them there. It is far better than Minas Tirith in that respect." _And in many others,_ she thought, having no fondness for the White City. "But that is not what concerns me this time. Haiweth is still so afraid of Legolas, and I think Hammel is, too, although he cloaks it in anger. I do not wish to subject them to his company if it is avoidable."

"And in this case it is not," Cobryn pointed out. "Éowyn is right—there will be talk if it is observed that you are always leaving the children behind when you visit the colony, though they travel with you everywhere else. Hammel and Haiweth have survived many a dinner with Legolas before; this occasion will be no different."

Gúthwyn exhaled. "I suppose." Logically, Cobryn's reasoning was sound: Hammel and Haiweth were used to sitting at the same table as Legolas, though to them it was a trial that had to be endured; and even at the colony, they would be able to avoid him outside of mealtimes. Yet it still made her uneasy…

The door to the porch was thrown open, and Hammel strode over to her, incensed. "Haiweth and I are not going to that feast," he announced, balling his hands into fists. Anger radiated from him in waves. "I am an adult. I am old enough to be her guardian while you are away. You cannot force me to go, and I will not let you bring her."

Gúthwyn hesitated: she had forgotten that Hammel was of age. "I-I suppose you are right," she admitted. "I cannot force you to go." Beside her, Cobryn did not move to intervene, nor did his expression change; but she felt his disapproval as keenly as Hammel's fury, and understood that some of it was directed at her. Willing herself to remain calm, she added, "But Éowyn believes it would be best for Haiweth to—"

Hammel slammed his fist down on the table before her, startling her more than she would have cared to admit. She stared into his eyes, black with hatred, and realized that she did not know them at all—nor what their owner might be capable of. "Since when is Éowyn the authority on what is best for Haiweth?" he demanded.

"That is enough," Cobryn warned, but Hammel ignored him.

"If either of you cared about her, you would not send her to that colony, where she will have to see that repugnant Elf everywhere she goes—"

"His name is Legolas," Gúthwyn said coldly, "and do not _dare_ tell me I do not care about Haiweth. You could not be more wrong."

"And yet you would force her into attending this gathering, despite being fully aware of her reasons for not wanting to go."

"Éowyn says—"

"'Éowyn says'?" Hammel mimicked her, baring his teeth. "Éowyn says and you blindly follow—"

Cobryn was on his feet in an instant, seizing the neck of Hammel's shirt and forcing him to bend awkwardly over the table. "You claim to be an adult, then start acting like one," he growled. "Your sister is going to Legolas's feast, and you would do well to remember that you have no influence over her travel plans. The only decision that is in your power is whether you will be a man and accompany her so that she does not have to face her fears alone, or a little boy who sits in his room and sulks because he has not gotten his way." He released Hammel with a rough movement; Hammel had to quickly shove his hands out to avoid falling onto the table. He glared up at Cobryn through his disheveled hair, the resentment and humiliation in his gaze palpable.

Cobryn was superbly unaffected. "The choice is yours," he said, "and you have plenty of time left with which to make it. If I were you, I would also take the opportunity to reflect upon your attitude."

"I am sure Haiweth would be very grateful if you decided to come with us," Gúthwyn said quietly.

Hammel's gaze fixed on her, and Gúthwyn saw—as clearly as if she were in his mind—that he was imagining all the ways in which he wanted to hurt or kill her. She tried not to shrink back in horror, but some of it must have shown on her face, for his lips twisted into a contemptuous sneer before he turned around and stalked back into the dwelling.

"Gúthwyn?"

Belatedly, she realized her eyes were filling with tears. "I-I do not know what I ever did to make him hate me so much," she whispered, trying in vain to wipe at her cheeks.

Cobryn caught her shoulder with his firm grip. "You did nothing."

Despite the conviction in his voice, however, Gúthwyn was not comforted, for Hammel had once uttered the same words and meant the exact opposite. "M-Maybe I should just let him and Haiweth stay."

She knew, even as she spoke, that this could not be—yet the compulsion to protect the children was so thoroughly embedded in her that she was already contemplating what sort of excuse she might give King Thranduil.

"After what he just did, you cannot afford to even consider it," Cobryn warned. "If he sees you wavering, he will think he can get away with his behavior, perhaps even be rewarded for it. Capitulate now, and you will have lost all hope of restraining him."

Before Gúthwyn could respond, the door opened again. For an instant, she thought Hammel had returned, and her heart leaped—only for it to give an odd sort of flop when Legolas stepped out onto the porch.

"Is something wrong?" he asked when he saw them. Gúthwyn felt Cobryn's hand leave her shoulder. "Gúthwyn?"

Rubbing at her eyes was beyond useless—he would have already taken in their red-rimmed appearance, the lashes sticking together with her tears. She made the attempt anyway, and did her best to swallow the lump in her throat. "Hammel just stopped by," she admitted. "We had an argument. W-Were you looking for me?"

Legolas's brow furrowed. "I am sorry. I was going to ask if you wanted to take the walk we agreed upon at breakfast, but perhaps now is not the best time—"

"Oh, yes—I mean, no—I mean—the time is fine," she managed, grimacing at how inarticulate she sounded. She did not dare look at Cobryn. "Just—give me a minute to put on another cloak—"

"It is no trouble at all if you are preoccupied," Legolas said, taking in her frazzled state.

"No, truly, I am fine. I will return soon."

Legolas stepped aside easily enough as she barreled past him into hall, but she was not so graceful and banged her shoulder on the doorframe loud enough for everyone to hear. She did not know which made her cringe more: the pain, or the embarrassment.

"Is she well?" she heard Legolas ask Cobryn as she headed down the hall.

Cobryn's response was inaudible, but she trusted him to be discreet. Herself, on the other hand… Cursing her habit of turning into a bumbling idiot in Legolas's presence, she hurried to her chambers and retrieved the fur-lined cloak Éomer had given her for a past birthday. It would be most welcome on this raw January morning.

She heard Cobryn and Legolas's voices before she reached the porch. Curious as to what they might be talking about, she slowed her pace and listened.

"You have always been observant," Legolas was saying. Gúthwyn could not discern his tone, but she did not think there was any malice in the remark.

"Little observation was required." There was a pause, but Legolas did not answer. "For my part, anyway," Cobryn continued. "Others will continue to miss the signs until they are right in front of them."

"So I have noticed." Legolas was speaking unusually slowly, as though he were inspecting each word before releasing it into the conversation. "I do not wish to—"

He broke off; and suddenly, Gúthwyn became conscious of the fact that she had come to a halt and was shamelessly eavesdropping. If anyone saw her hovering outside the door, holding her breath so as to better hear the porch's occupants… Flustered, she lost all sense of discretion and reached for the knob, turning it before she could consider the suspicious absence of footsteps.

"Sorry," she said breathlessly, looking neither at Legolas nor Cobryn but at some point between them. "I found my cloak—" She forced herself to shut up, convinced she had already given herself away. Yet when she finally glanced up at them, only Cobryn was raising his eyebrows at her, and it was unlikely that he would have heard her approach. Legolas, the one whom she was most concerned about, was still drawing his gaze from Cobryn.

"Shall we?" he asked when his eyes met hers again.

Heart still pounding, Gúthwyn nodded.

"I shall leave you to it." Cobryn stood, inclining his head at Legolas. "Enjoy your walk."

Gúthwyn watched her friend return to the house, then took Legolas's proffered arm and stepped out with him into the cold air. She shivered as her cheeks were scraped by the wind—there was only so much her cloak could do—and tried not to look relieved when he moved closer, shielding her from the gusts.

"Would you like to go back inside?" he asked, but she shook her head.

By wordless agreement, they turned away from the forest and began heading to the main road. They walked in silence for a time, Gúthwyn debating whether or not to inquire about Legolas's conversation with Cobryn. She was curious to know what Cobryn had observed—perhaps he had made some remark about the colony?—but could not think of a way to bring it up without incriminating herself.

"How is your ankle?" Legolas finally asked.

"Far better." For once, Gúthwyn was not lying about her health. "As painful as it was at the time, I am glad Nestadan reset the bone. It feels stronger, and I have not experienced the occasional discomfort I was accustomed to in the past."

"Those are welcome tidings, indeed." Legolas smiled down at her, and she almost lost the nerve for what she had been about to say.

"I agree," she began, wetting her lips—suddenly they seemed so dry. "But there is another reason why I am grateful for Nestadan's care."

"And why is that?"

"Because"—it would be better if she said nothing—"because if he had not confined me to bed rest"—there was still time to change her mind—"I might not have had the chance to learn about the Silmarils."

"That is true," Legolas replied softly. She saw him look at their entwined arms. "I have enjoyed telling the story thus far, and I confess… I am glad we have not yet come to the end."

Gúthwyn's heart swelled with delight. She had sometimes worried that Legolas might grow tired of the exercise and wish he were elsewhere; he had already spent several days recounting the tale for her, after all, not to mention the multitude of questions he had fielded on account of her ignorance. But now it appeared that he truly did not mind, that he had taken just as much pleasure in their time together as she had.

"So am I," she murmured.

She noticed then that their hands were mere inches apart, and for once she felt no inclination to pull away.

* * *

><p>They spent Legolas's last hour in Emyn Arnen strolling up and down the main road, Legolas describing the arrival of Fëanor's kindred in Middle-earth, and their first battle with Morgoth beneath the stars. Gúthwyn did not have the luxury of closing her eyes this time, although it crossed her mind that Legolas would have been a willing and trustworthy guide had she chosen to do so; nonetheless, refraining from her usual listening habits had the benefit of being able to watch Legolas tell the story, to see the way his eyes lit up when he spoke of noble deeds and acts of courageousness. His habit of making hand gestures was compromised by the fact that his arm was still in hers, but she was not bothered when he sometimes forgot and accidentally jostled her.<p>

The only sour note of the morning occurred as they were returning to the dwelling, where already some servants were moving about in preparation for the Elves' departure. Gúthwyn saw Haiweth sketching on the front steps, tucked out of everyone's way against a pillar. Her blonde curls spilled out over her cloak, catching streaks of orange sunlight, and Gúthwyn noticed some of the stable boys casting sidelong glances at her as they brought out the horses.

This was troubling in and of itself, but worse was when Haiweth looked up from her drawing and saw Gúthwyn with Legolas. She quickly ducked her head again, but not before Gúthwyn saw her features darken.

"Would you like me to turn back?" Legolas inquired, and that was when Gúthwyn realized their arms were no longer linked.

She sighed, feeling colder than she had before. "No, let us go and say hello. I do not think we will talk for long."

"Are you sure?"

Gúthwyn nodded. Haiweth had not gotten up from her seat, which was a positive sign, although she also had not looked directly at them since. With any luck, this would not result in disaster.

"Hello, Haiweth," Gúthwyn said cautiously when they reached the stairs. "What are you drawing?"

Haiweth's gaze slowly turned upwards. It darted once to Legolas, then back to Gúthwyn before she turned the parchment around. Éomund's daughter examined the scene of a wintry Emyn Arnen, impressed, but it was not she who offered the first assessment.

"It is beautiful," Legolas remarked, his eyes wide. "Was all of this done just now?"

Haiweth frowned in confusion, then glanced at Gúthwyn as if waiting to be told whether or not she had to answer. As the seconds lengthened, she swallowed and addressed Legolas's shoulder. "I started it a week ago."

"Haiweth spends a great deal of time on her drawings," Gúthwyn told Legolas, not quite sure what she was trying to accomplish, "and they all come out wonderful."

Haiweth did not say anything, but her unwelcoming posture and sullen eyes could not have been plainer: _Are you done yet? Can you please leave?_

"Well." The silence had become far too tense for Gúthwyn's liking. "We will not distract you. Everyone will be coming outside soon."

This was as much a warning as a reminder, and Haiweth's curt nod showed that she had acknowledged it as such. Gúthwyn and Legolas proceeded up the stairs, neither of them speaking until the doors had closed behind them.

"I am sorry about that," Gúthwyn finally murmured. "I had hoped… Well, I do not know what I had hoped." Thoughts of Haiweth engaging in conversation with Legolas now seemed utterly foolish, and she could not imagine how she had entertained them in the first place.

"It is not your fault," Legolas answered. "Nor is it hers. I only—"

He broke off, and it was a moment before Gúthwyn followed his gaze and saw why. Hammel had just entered the hall, and the glare he sent Legolas (he ignored Gúthwyn entirely) would have made a lesser man quail.

"Now that, you must allow me to apologize for," Gúthwyn said when Hammel finally turned away.

Legolas shook his head. "There is an anger in his heart that I do not understand, but I know you did not put it there."

"If only I could be so confident," Gúthwyn said glumly as they began to walk again.

Legolas detained her with the lightest amount of pressure on her arm. "You have done everything in your power to be a good mother to him. That is no small thing, and it is much to your credit."

Gúthwyn's stomach swirled and knotted beneath the intensity of his gaze, and she prayed no one was watching—then they would see how red her face had surely become. "Th-Thank you," she said, even as another voice (one that sounded a lot like Cobryn) nagged at her about the mistakes she had made in the children's upbringing. "I am glad someone thinks so."

Legolas looked as if he intended to say more, but at that moment he was hailed from across the room by Trelan. He inclined his head and took his leave of her; but his words lingered long after he had joined his companions, and Gúthwyn discovered that her spirits had risen as if determined to make her forget her protestations.

* * *

><p>Once Legolas had departed, Gúthwyn thought things in Emyn Arnen would settle down, but she was proven wrong that very afternoon by another visit from Haiweth.<p>

"Hello, little one," Gúthwyn said, though not without a degree of reservation—the morning's previous encounters had not gone so well. She set aside her still-unfinished letter to Éomer and forced a cheerful smile on her face. "How is your drawing coming along?"

"Good." Haiweth ambled over to Gúthwyn's bed, making a show of examining the comforter. "It will be done soon."

The inattentiveness of her speech made Gúthwyn suspect she had not wandered in for a casual chat: there was another purpose to this meeting, and the more Haiweth danced around it the sharper Gúthwyn's sense of foreboding became.

"I heard Cobryn yelling at Hammel in the library," Haiweth reported, now inspecting her fingernails for imaginary dirt. "I told him not to say anything to you, but he was angry and he did not listen."

"He did not want you to have to go," Gúthwyn replied, saddened by the memory. "I wish he had gone about it in a politer way, but he was trying to protect you and I cannot fault him for that."

Haiweth shrugged, but did not offer a response; clearly, Hammel's outburst was not what she had come to discuss. Gúthwyn decided to wait her out, though part of her hoped that Haiweth would abandon the matter, whatever it was—the girl's questions seemed to become more difficult to answer with each passing year. In want of something to occupy herself, she picked up a quill and started rolling it between her fingers, wondering when the hammer would fall.

Finally, after spending several minutes fiddling with her dress, and looking at anything that was not Gúthwyn, Haiweth blurted out, "Do you like Legolas?"

Gúthwyn blinked. "Of course I do." It occurred to her that Haiweth might have been more upset than she had let on by the incident on the steps, and Gúthwyn had not realized—if only she could convince Haiweth of Legolas's good intentions! Determined to try, she added, "He is a close friend of mine. I know it is—"

"That is not what I meant," Haiweth said with a pained expression.

"Then what did you mean?" _And why are you looking at me like I am a simpleton?_ Gúthwyn's confusion mounted when Haiweth, in lieu of responding, gave her an incredulous stare. What was going on? She had already answered the question well enough. She _did_ like Legolas…

Then something in Haiweth's gaze connected, and a troubling notion was dredged from her subconscious and thrust into the light. Now she understood what Haiweth was saying. Now it was all too clear what they were discussing, what gauntlet had just been thrown down between them.

And then, wildly out of place, came a thought so absurd that she almost laughed in spite of the situation: _Well, this is a first, being accused of consorting with an Elf. All the men in Rohan and Gondor really have been exhausted at this point._

When she did not answer, Haiweth's face crumpled. "So you do like him?"

"Haiweth!" Gúthwyn's mirth vanished at once, and she recoiled as if the question had physically stung her. "I cannot imagine what would prompt you to think—why would you say such a thing?"

In her distress, her lungs stopped retaining air; and she grew steadily more lightheaded as she thought of all the glancing remarks Éowyn and Éomer had made over the years, all the carefully (or not so carefully) placed hints that her friendship with Legolas had overstepped some sort of boundary. They were adding up now, the words cascading into her mind until they had crowded everything else out.

"_I saw Legolas's hand on your arm, sister…"_

"_I did not know you were corresponding with Legolas… I was simply curious…"_

"_I have never heard you speak so warmly of him…"_

When at last her own voice broke through, it was to betray her. _You can feign innocence all you want, but how many times have you caught yourself thinking about how handsome he is? How desperately have you begun to crave his company when he is gone? Perhaps the reason you deny it so adamantly is because your siblings' charges are not entirely without merit..._

_No._ Her real voice, the one that was still hers and not influenced by any outsiders, finally emerged. _This is not true. Legolas and I are good friends, no more—no matter what my family thinks._

She exhaled and focused back on Haiweth, who had been struggling to come up with an answer. "You are always with him," the girl finally muttered. "You let him touch you, too." It was hard to say whose cheeks turned more scarlet at that. "And when you were injured, he was allowed into your bedroom."

"Haiweth!" The mere use of the word _bedroom_, with all its attendant insinuations, made her flinch—but worse was the realization that these insinuations were not lost on Haiweth, that she had spoken with full knowledge of why this was a point she could make.

_They have ruined her,_ Gúthwyn thought, staring aghast at the stranger she had once been able to carry on her hip. _The Gondorians have ruined my child._

The corners of her eyes began to burn as she said, "Legolas was permitted to visit me because he is a trusted friend of Éowyn and Faramir, who had no qualms about his presence in my chambers. It truly—" Her voice, until then a shimmer of steel, broke, and she had to take several breaths before she could be certain of continuing without tears. "It truly upsets me that you would imply—that you would suggest—when you know what has been said about me—"

"That is not what I meant," Haiweth muttered, gripping Gúthwyn's bedpost with white knuckles.

"Oh, but it most certainly was what you meant." Gúthwyn's throat had hardened with disappointment, anger, and hurt—not all of which was directed at Haiweth—and she had to force herself to speak. "If you are going to level accusations at someone, do not recant when you are confronted. It is quite unbecoming. You think I am partial to Legolas, do you not? Because our arms were linked this morning, and you have it in your mind that such a gesture cannot occur without romantic intent? Or am I now in love with Cobryn, too, given how often he has been in my room?"

"Cobryn is different—he does not count!"

"Tell that to the women of Dol Amroth whom you admire so much!"

"Would you stop bringing them up every time we have an argument?" Haiweth exclaimed, now close to tears herself.

"I do so because you are starting to sound an awful lot like one of them," Gúthwyn retorted. "You are accusing me of harboring feelings for Legolas based on the flimsiest of signs—"

"I was not accusing you!" Haiweth's eyes were bright with tears, spilling onto vermillion cheeks. "I was just asking, you were the one who got angry at me!"

Gúthwyn's grip on her quill tightened considerably, and she had to let it go lest she snap the spine in half. "You and I both know that you were not just asking."

"Forget it, then." Haiweth sprang up from the mattress. "I do not know why I ever bother talking to you about anything, anyway, when you always treat me like a child! Éowyn trusts me enough to answer my questions, but you—"

"Yes, speaking of my sister," Gúthwyn said heatedly, "I suppose she had a role in this as well."

Haiweth came to a halt, her eyebrows narrowing as she stared at Gúthwyn. "What?"

"Did Éowyn put you up to this? Has she ever discussed this with you?"

Haiweth's face hardened, and she started to leave the room.

"Haiweth!"

The girl reluctantly paused in the doorway, sending Éomund's daughter a chilly look. "No," she snapped, "but it is really obvious once you start to notice it."

She took care to slam the door on her way out.


	97. Visits and Visitors

**Chapter Ninety-Seven**

Winter gave way to spring, and the Gondorian new year was celebrated in Minas Tirith with even more festivities than usual: a decade had now passed since the destruction of the Ring, and the realm's recovery had been steady under the guide of its beloved king and queen. Rejoicing at the turn in their fortunes, the Gondorians marked the occasion with feasting, music, and dancing that lasted into the early hours of the morning. The fallen were honored in speeches and song, and one poet spoke so movingly of Théoden's final charge that there was not a dry eye in the hall when he finished.

Gúthwyn was among this number: she, Cobryn, and the children had accompanied Éowyn and Faramir to the city, where a familiar trail of stares and whispers followed in their wake.

"Honestly," Gúthwyn grumbled to Cobryn. "You would think they would have gotten used to it by now. This is hardly the first time they have seen us."

"Ah," Cobryn replied with a faint smirk, "but everyone loves a scandal, especially one that requires so little evidence to maintain."

At least Hammel was not bothered by the Gondorians' disdain. The library in the Steward's House was of far greater interest to him than his social standing, and he was perfectly happy to spend his days perusing the extensive collection Faramir and his ancestors had amassed over the centuries. He only emerged for meals, and sometimes not even then; Gúthwyn privately doubted he saw the sun more than once or twice the whole week they were in Minas Tirith.

Haiweth, however, began to feel the constraints of her circumstances. Initially, she was thrilled to return to the city: her delight in attending balls was unrivalled by perhaps any girl her age, and she could not wait to wear her new gown—a stunning creation of spun silver and midnight blue, selected by Gúthwyn from among her most cherished drawings. Yet these privileges could not distract from the mutterings about her background, and Éomund's daughter was saddened to watch her carefree vivacity fade beneath the accusing stares. Just a year ago, she had been blithely unaware of her detractors; now each outing brought a new slight or snub that she reported to Gúthwyn with increasing gloom.

"Everyone was dancing the whole time except for me," she lamented after the first ball. "And whenever someone asked me to dance, afterwards someone would pull them aside and then they would not ask me again. Only Talathdil wanted to be my partner twice."

It was not only the young men of Gondor who were now reluctant to associate her; Haiweth soon discovered that her female peers were equally unfriendly. "I saw Nindriel today while I was walking with Éowyn," she told Gúthwyn another time, referring to a girl whose acquaintance she had made at one of Arwen's teas. "I said hello, but she pretended not to hear me, though I know she did."

Cobryn advised Haiweth to always be polite to Nindriel, but to never trust her farther than she could throw her. Gúthwyn nodded in agreement, yet it troubled her that she was the cause of Haiweth's misfortune. What if Haiweth blamed her for the way she was being treated by her peers? Would she come to resent Gúthwyn, like her brother already had?

If Haiweth harbored such feelings, however, she did not make them known, and as yet the ill-will borne towards her was kept in check by Arwen's observant eye. The queen had made it clear that Haiweth was welcome at her table, and no one dared to contradict her. Gúthwyn might have been amused to see the more snobbish teenagers tripping over themselves to become models of amiability and friendliness while the queen was in earshot, had she not known from Haiweth what they were capable of saying in private.

Haiweth, as it turned out, had the last laugh. She saved her new gown for their final feast with the king and queen, and entered the hall looking every bit like a princess. Gúthwyn was there to witness the shocked, envious stares of her peers, and she derived no small amount of satisfaction from the sight of Nindriel's jaw dropping before she could master herself. She and her friends put their heads together as Haiweth walked by, their whispers filling the hall like the fluttering of moth-wings as they speculated on the origins of her dress.

"One of them finally asked me where I got it," Haiweth announced to Gúthwyn afterwards, unable to conceal her triumph. "She tried to pretend she was just curious, but I know Nindriel made her do it."

"Did you tell them you drew it?"

Haiweth shook her head. "Then they would just find something wrong with it. I said it was a present from Éowyn and Faramir and I had no idea who had made it… I hope Nindriel drives herself mad trying to figure it out!"

Unfortunately, neither of them were around to find out if she did, as they left Minas Tirith the following morning. Upon returning to Emyn Arnen, they had a brief repose until they were due back on the road again, this time for the feast Legolas was hosting at the colony. Shortly before they left, they were joined by Éomer, who arrived with Elfwine (much to Gúthwyn's delight) and a small company of men.

There was neither sign nor mention of Lothíriel.

"Auntie Gúthwyn, when are we going to see Leggy?" Elfwine asked on the fourth day of their visit, as he, Gúthwyn, and Elboron were taking a stroll through the gardens. Elboron dozed peacefully in Gúthwyn's arms—now almost a year old, his weight was no longer inconsiderable, and she was often adjusting her grip to maintain a better hold on him.

"Soon, little one. We are waiting for King Elessar to get here first." Aragorn's host would include Merry and Pippin, who had gladly accepted Legolas's invitation (Sam's mayoral and familial duties had, alas, prevented him from leaving the Shire) and had journeyed to Gondor just in time for the New Year. Gúthwyn had spoken with them in Minas Tirith, but only briefly—as guests of honor, and _periain_ at that, they were constantly being drawn away by eager admirers. She hoped to have a better chance of catching up with them at the colony.

Elfwine crouched down to look at a plant with jagged leaves, then jumped up and said, "Did you know that King Elessar has a _million_ names? He told me them but I forgot, except for Estel. That was his name when he lived with the Elves."

"He does not have quite that many names," Gúthwyn answered with a smile. "But you are right, Estel is one of them."

"I want to live with Elves, too, but Papa says I cannot." Elfwine heaved a great sigh, one that was comically weary for a boy of not yet seven years.

Yet Gúthwyn was frowning. "Why do you want to live with Elves?"

"Because!" Elfwine gaped at her, as if he could not understand why that was even a question. "Leggy would teach me how to shoot better than anyone, and then I would learn how to speak Elvish, and then I would know _three_ languages, so I could say one word in one language, and another in another, and another in another, and no one would know what I was saying!"

"That sounds wonderful, little one, but what about your home? Your parents would miss you very much if you went away, and so would I."

"But I would come back," Elfwine replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "And you and Mama and Papa could come see me."

At the mention of "Mama and Papa," Gúthwyn seized the opportunity to bring up something she had hoped to discuss with him while they were alone. "I am sure we would. Your mother and father love you greatly—you understand that, do you not?"

Elfwine nodded, his eyes darting up to hers. She had a feeling the change of subject had not escaped him, nor had she been as subtle as she had intended.

"And they are far from the only ones," she pressed on, reasoning that not everyone could have Cobryn's way of words, and she would have this conversation with her nephew even if it lacked eloquence. "I also care about you, and I want nothing more than for you to be happy. Which is why I was worried the last time you came to visit, because you were very upset about returning home. Have things gotten better since then?"

Elfwine gave an uneasy shrug. "Papa still does not like Mama very much."

The straightforwardness of his confession nearly broke her heart. "Oh, little one. I am so sorry."

"He pretends to be nice to her when I am there, but I know he does not mean it." A scowl darkened Elfwine's features. "I do not think Leggy would do something like that."

Gúthwyn winced, knowing she had to tread carefully. She glanced down at Elboron and adjusted his blanket, using the time to compose her answer. "It is not right of your father to treat your mother that way, and I am glad you are mature enough to see that. But your father has been very hurt, and when people are hurt they often lash out, not realizing how much they are affecting the ones they love."

"Why is he hurt? Is it because Mama sent you away?"

"Oh—no, Elfwine, your mother never sent me away. I went on my own accord."

"But you would not have left if Mama had not yelled at you," Elfwine said shrewdly.

Gúthwyn opened her mouth to argue and then thought better of it: Elfwine would likely see right through her, and that would be worse than saying nothing. "All of us should have behaved differently, little one, including myself. I thought I was doing what was best, but I was wrong. You will learn as you grow older that adults are not always as smart as they would like to be."

"I already know that."

Gúthwyn smiled. "Of course you do. _You_ are very intelligent."

"But…" Elfwine's somber expression returned. "I still think Leggy would not be so mean to Mama."

Gúthwyn privately agreed, though she would never have admitted it. _How everything has changed,_ she marveled—_I am praising Legolas above my own brother!_ It was not a comforting notion, given the circumstances. "Remember that Legolas is an Elf, and they can be very different from humans."

"They are not so different," Elfwine objected. "They just have pointy ears and never go to sleep."

"Well." Once again, Elfwine had hit nearer to the mark than Gúthwyn would have liked, so she cleared her throat and said, "In any case, we will be at the colony in three days' time, and you can see Legolas then."

"And his papa."

"Yes, King Thranduil will be there as well." She tried not to cringe: she had made such a horrendous impression on Legolas's father, especially during that awful lunch he had cornered her into, that she could not recall their encounters without mortification. Now they would be meeting again, and the Valar knew how thoroughly she would embarrass herself in his presence.

"Is King Thranduil nice like Leggy?" Elfwine inquired.

"He is… Well, he is… a respected ruler," she managed, fumbling for a diplomatic way of saying _Not really, no_. "Legolas thinks very highly of him. Soon you will be able to judge for yourself."

Elfwine's eyes narrowed slightly—he must have sensed there was not something entirely genuine about her response. Hoping he would not have the time to work it out, she quickly added, "It would be best if you used Legolas's full name while we are at the colony, little one. I know Legolas does not mind if you call him Leggy, but there will be a lot of important people at the feast and we all have to be on our best behavior. I am sure your parents have already told you."

Elfwine nodded. "Does this mean El has to be Elboron again?" he asked glumly.

Gúthwyn grinned at that, and looked down at the sleeping bundle in her arms. The top of Elboron's head was a nest of fine, delicate curls, perpetually in need of a trim. "I think El is fine. He is a baby, after all, no one will mind if he has a nickname. But the adults will want to use their proper titles."

"Like Papa is King Éomer."

"Correct."

Elfwine rolled his eyes—or rather, he turned his head in an exaggerated circle which suggested he had heard of the expression and wanted to try it out himself, but did not actually know how. "Adults are strange," he decided before standing on his tiptoes to get a better look at his cousin. "Can we wake El up? I want to hear him talk again."

Over the past few months, Elboron had accumulated a small collection of words, which he often used in a variety of combinations: "Mama," "Papa," "book," and "tree." Once, he had looked at Gúthwyn and said "goo"; and although no amount of coaxing could get him to repeat himself, she liked to think he would soon. "Not now," she told Elfwine. "There will be plenty of time to hear him talk later. We can try teaching him your name again."

As an earlier attempt had only achieved puzzled looks from their pupil, her suggestion elicited little interest. "Babies never do anything," Elfwine complained.

Gúthwyn was about to remind him that he, too, had once been Elboron's age, but before she could do so they were distracted by the appearance of Éomer and Elfhelm. Judging by their flushed cheeks and the swords hanging loosely at their sides, they had just come from the training grounds.

"Papa!" Elfwine cried, running over. "Can we practice now? Please? You said we could."

Éomer's expression hinted that he would have preferred a rest, but he nodded all the same. "You will have to go back inside to get your sword, then. And you will have to wash up before dinner."

Elfwine wrinkled his nose at that, but the prospect of cleanliness was a minor setback; and soon he was tugging Éomer to the dwelling, leaving Gúthwyn and Elfhelm to follow at a more measured pace.

For a time, Gúthwyn plied the Marshal with queries about Aldburg, the former capital of Rohan and the home she had so briefly shared with her parents. As Elfhelm was responsible for the East-mark, his duties frequently took him to the old town, and he informed her of the progress that had been made in modernizing the buildings. Yet eventually the conversation petered out, and he posed a question she had long been expecting, and just as long dreading.

"Your absence from the training grounds has been noticed."

"I have not sheathed my sword permanently," Gúthwyn assured him, though the words rang hollow in her ears. Even now that Nestadan had given his approval for her to take up Framwine once more, she had been reluctant to do so. Galen, the young Ranger whose admiration for her had made him the subject of good-natured teasing from his friends, had been posted to Henneth Annûn for the winter; with him gone, Gúthwyn's list of eligible sparring partners was whittled down to two: herself, and Cobryn.

Then there was the minor fact that most of Faramir's Rangers preferred to avoid her whenever possible, and their feelings were reciprocated. Finding a time when the training grounds were unoccupied had become such a hassle that she had finally stopped bothering altogether, telling herself she would resume her workouts when Galen returned next month.

"And yet?" Elfhelm prompted her when she fell into silence.

"All I have are excuses, I am afraid," she said, smiling ruefully up at him. He made a strange sight now, with the gold in his hair fading into grey—she had almost not recognized him when he had arrived, and she was still trying to get used to it.

Yet while his appearance had changed, she had no doubt that his vigor remained intact; and so she jested, "You would hardly have to expend any effort now to defeat me."

Elfhelm snorted at that, but concern still lingered in his gaze. "That does not sound like the Lady Gúthwyn who once risked her brother's wrath to enter a tournament."

"No, it does not," she conceded softly. Much of her life, it seemed, had been swallowed up by the forests of Ithilien. "Tell me, friend, how fares the queen? Éomer will say little of her, and I do not wish to interrogate Elfwine."

"I do not think I can be of much use," Elfhelm said apologetically. "Our paths rarely cross." He looked uncomfortable, and Gúthwyn knew she was putting him in an awkward position—despite being a member of the royal family herself, she was essentially asking him to gossip about his king.

"Surely you see her on occasion?" she implored him. "Does Éomer… do they seem well?"

Elfhelm appeared to be choosing his words with care. "The king and queen have… hardly been seen in public together since your departure. The queen sometimes walks along the main road with her son, but they are never joined by the king." Gúthwyn's disappointment must have shown in her reaction, for he hastily said, as though determined to find something positive to report, "When last I spoke with her, however, her Rohirric had improved."

Gúthwyn had already heard this from Legolas, but she was gladdened by the fact that others seemed to be noticing as well. "That is wonderful."

"Indeed. Not for everyone, though—some of the guards have been most disconcerted to realize that she can now understand some of their jokes."

Gúthwyn chuckled at that, hoping none of them had gotten into serious trouble.

"Interestingly"—Elfhelm shot her a speculative look—"Éomer seems to think that you are responsible for this."

"Does he?" Since their first argument on the matter, Éomer had not mentioned the stories she was sending to Lothíriel; now she found herself curious, wanting to know if his stance had at all softened once her scheme began producing results.

"Well, I remarked on it once, and all he said was, 'My baby sister's latest project.' I did not press the matter."

There were times when optimism was justified, but this did not appear to be one of them. Wondering if Éomer would ever be able to let go of his anger, she answered, "I have made no secret of the fact that I believe it would make things easier if Lothíriel were to become more proficient in our tongue. I recently reminded her of this, it is true; but however she has chosen to act on my advice is to her credit, not mine. I do not possess the power to bend people to my will."

"No?" Elfhelm raised an eyebrow. "I seem to recall you wielding more than your fair share of influence back in the day." Adopting a high-pitched, girlish voice, he imitated a much younger version of Gúthwyn. "Elfhelm, it's your turn to play pony. Please? _Please?_ Éomer and Théodred already did it, but Éomer was no fun because he said I was too heavy for him…"

Gúthwyn burst out laughing. "You exaggerate!" she protested, though she did, in fact, have vague memories of roping several soldiers into her childhood games. Somehow, Théoden had always managed to whisk away the more senior warriors, but the younger ones had been left to fend for themselves—and back then, Elfhelm had only recently started his duties as an officer.

"We all have a tendency of remembering events in a way that casts the most flattering light upon ourselves." Elfhelm smirked, but soon his expression became serious. "Yet I wonder that one of such determination, as I have known you to be since you were small enough to fit on a grown man's back, could now be so indifferent to your training."

He had returned their conversation to the very point she was hoping they had left behind, and she was relieved when they reached the dwelling at that moment and their walk was brought to an end. Elfhelm did not wait for her answer, but she could tell she had disappointed him; and the guilt worsened a few minutes later, when she opened the trunk where she stored Framwine and realized she had not done so in over a month.

_When Galen comes back,_ she told herself. The promise sounded even feebler than it had before.

With a sigh, she lowered the lid of the trunk, and watched as the darkness engulfed her beloved sword until she could no longer see it.


	98. Flowers and Festivities

**Chapter Ninety-Eight**

The host traveling from Emyn Arnen to the colony was large, merry, and slow-moving. Whether it was something in the air that discouraged haste—the sweetness of a newborn spring, perhaps, with hints of saxifrage and thyme—or the simple enjoyment of one another's company, they set out mid-morning and did not intend to reach their destination until the late afternoon.

Gúthwyn was in the middle of the pack, keeping Elfwine entertained while Éomer rode ahead with Aragorn, Faramir, Merry, and Pippin. Her nephew's emotions, easily excitable to begin with, were running wild. He was immensely proud of himself for managing Felara, the sturdy, placid pony Éomer had selected from the tamest Edoras had to offer. He was also quite eager to see Legolas, judging by the number of times he had asked "How much further?" in the past half-hour alone.

In one respect, however, his happiness was marred: Éomer had made him put on a fancier riding outfit than usual, in order to ensure that he would be at least somewhat presentable when they arrived. Gúthwyn thought it looked adorable, but Elfwine kept scowling down at the embroidery on his tunic. She tried not to laugh when this happened, and luckily Elfwine was none the wiser: the rest his attention was devoted to a monologue of his adventures with Onyveth (some of them assuredly exaggerated, others leaving it unclear which Onyveth he was talking about—Lebryn's daughter, or the doll Legolas had given him during his last visit to the colony), and Gúthwyn found that her input, though welcome, was scarcely needed.

Ever so often, she would surreptitiously redirect her attention to Hammel and Haiweth, seeking them out in the group. Hammel rode silently beside Cobryn, glaring at his surroundings as if he would have liked nothing more than for a dragon to swoop down upon the road and incinerate them all. Haiweth appeared content—she was with Éowyn and Arwen, occasionally daring to contribute to the conversation, always looking relieved when her comments were accepted. But Gúthwyn noticed that there were times when she glanced at the road ahead, or off into the nearby trees; and then she became withdrawn, pensive, telling Gúthwyn she was all too aware of what lay ahead.

Elfwine was the first to notice that they had crossed the border of the colony, or at least the first to point into the trees and loudly exclaim that he had seen an Elf. This earned him praise from Aragorn, who remarked upon his keen eyesight; and Elfwine beamed all the way to the main dwelling, making Gúthwyn hard-pressed to disguise her amusement.

They were received outside by Trelan, who bounded lightly down the steps and greeted them with a cry of "Lord Aragorn! Shall we be expecting any adventures, mishaps, or injuries today?"

Some of Gondorians looked startled to hear their king being addressed so familiarly, but Aragorn's laughter rang through the air as he leapt off his horse and embraced Trelan. "None of that today, I hope. Perhaps tomorrow."

Trelan's eyes sparkled. "I am sure you and Legolas will think of something. His father still blames you for him joining the Fellowship, you know."

"I had nothing to do with that!" Aragorn protested as Merry and Pippin snickered behind him.

Trelan was still grinning when he addressed the queen. "My lady Arwen, as always it is a pleasure."

"It is wonderful to see you, Trelan," Arwen answered warmly. "Are my brothers inside?"

"They returned from the hunt just in time," Trelan informed her. Gúthwyn scarcely heard him, for she was struggling to remember who Elrond's sons were. They were twins, and she could never seem to get their names straight… At length, she latched upon two that seemed right: Elladan and Elrohir. Yes, that was it.

The next ten minutes were chaotic as everyone reacquainted themselves with solid terrain, either stretching their sore limbs, looking around in curiosity, or—in Éomer, Éowyn, and Faramir's cases—assessing their children for tiredness and tidiness (and not necessarily in that order).

"Papa, I am _fine_!" Elfwine squawked as Éomer attempted to brush some dirt off his tunic. "I want to see Leggy, where is he?"

"Remember what I told you about using Prince Legolas's full name?" Éomer muttered as Aragorn nearly choked on his laughter.

Trelan overheard; a slight twitch of his lips suggested that he, too, was having some difficulty in concealing his mirth. "If you will all follow me," he said, winking at Elfwine, "King Thranduil and Prince Legolas await you inside."

As the group began moving towards the dwelling, Hammel and Haiweth fell in line with Gúthwyn: Hammel gritting his teeth, and Haiweth's face a remarkable shade of white.

"It will not be so bad," she tried to reassure them. "Once we greet Legolas and King Thranduil, we will be able to go to our rooms. Haiweth, I can show you the grounds later, there will be plenty of things for you to sketch. And Hammel, I am sure the library—"

"Shut up," Hammel spat.

Gúthwyn stared at him, shocked, and realized that even he had flinched—as if he had not meant to respond at all, but something in her speech had made him snap. Before either of them could speak, however, a shadow loomed in front of them. Éomer had been walking with Elfwine only a few paces ahead, and must have overheard everything; now he bore down upon Hammel and seized his upper arm, forcing him back several feet.

"You," he snarled, keeping his voice low and his back turned to Elfwine, "are the foulest, most ungrateful little—" The swearword he used made Haiweth gasp.

"Papa?" Elfwine craned his neck, trying to see what was happening. "Papa, what are you—what is Papa doing?"

For Gúthwyn had just hurried over, taking advantage of the fact that for once she was taller than someone, and blocked Elfwine's view. "No, little one," she said, staying him gently when he attempted to move around her. "Your father and Hammel are discussing something, but we have to keep walking. They will join us when they are ready."

"But—"

Haiweth appeared at Gúthwyn's side, her complexion even whiter than before. "Éomer said I should take Elfwine instead," she muttered, barely moving her lips. Gúthwyn assumed this was for Elfwine's sake, although the boy could still hear her.

"All right, well—" Straining to hear what Éomer was saying, Gúthwyn almost forgot to finish answering Haiweth. "Elfwine, you go with Haiweth…" After a long beat of silence, she looked up to see Haiweth's grey eyes narrowed at her. "Go on, then," she managed, wondering if she had imagined the silent accusation in the girl's gaze. "Elfwine, follow Haiweth, your father will—"

"But Papa has to come with me!" Elfwine interrupted anxiously. "We have to meet Leggy's papa together, he told me he would—"

"He will catch up to you before it is time to meet King Thranduil," Gúthwyn said quickly. What was that expression she had once heard? "Butter scraped over too much bread"? Someone had been quoting someone else… but no time for that, she needed to get back to Éomer and Hammel to keep an eye on them, and poor Elfwine was still using Legolas's nickname—yet it was too late to correct him, Haiweth was already steering him away—oh, she ought to have said something to the girl… to what? Apologize for Éomer? For her own lack of control over Hammel?

For a moment she stood there, paralyzed with indecision; then she gave up on everything except for Hammel, and hurried back over to where he was still being reprimanded by Éomer. The bulk of the host had passed them and were making their way up the stairs; only the men of Rohan hung back, waiting for their king. Their emptier surroundings made it easier for Gúthwyn to hear what Éomer was saying.

"I swear upon Béma's horse, if you are not on your best behavior this week I will beat you to within an inch of your miserable little life. Have I made myself perfectly clear?"

"Éomer!" Gúthwyn gasped.

He ignored her, tightening his grip on Hammel. "Have I made myself perfectly clear?" he repeated.

"_Yes_," Hammel muttered, his eyes darkening.

"Good." Éomer shoved Hammel away; the boy stumbled, and for an instant Gúthwyn thought he would fall, but he managed to right himself with a scowl. "Walk in front of us," Éomer ordered, "and make sure that your greeting to Legolas and his father is appropriate."

"Hammel—" Gúthwyn began; but he strode by her, white-lipped, without so much as a look of acknowledgment. Feeling increasingly helpless, she turned back to Éomer. "You should not have threatened him like that. I do not want you to hurt him, he is my responsibility—"

Éomer raised his eyebrows. "And Elfwine is my responsibility, but I would never begrudge you the right to discipline him if he ever behaved so poorly as that." He started after Hammel, motioning for his men to follow.

Alarmed, Gúthwyn scrambled to catch up with him. "But—you would not say such a thing to Elfwine, would you?" _Or to Lothíriel?_ she thought a second later, but she did not dare ask.

Éomer snorted, then caught himself when he saw her expression. "By the Valar, Gúthwyn, do not be ridiculous. Elfwine is a child. Hammel is a grown man."

"He is only eighteen!"

"And that is certainly old enough to know the difference between right and wrong!" Éomer retorted. Lowering his voice, he added, "I have seen the way he looks at you, and there is an evil in his gaze that troubles me. That boy has become a monster."

"No, he has not," Gúthwyn whispered, with far less conviction than she felt.

Éomer noticed. "You would do well to keep a close watch on him. And I would not trust him with your life."

Gúthwyn wanted to argue, to defend her child, but it was difficult when she had seen for herself the same hatred that had so alarmed Éomer. Hammel had changed over the years, and not for the better; his heart grew blacker by the day. What frightened her was not knowing what had caused it, rendering her powerless to stop the decay. How had Hammel gone from such a quiet boy to an angry, bitter young man? And what part had she played in that transformation?

"Papa, hurry up!" Elfwine hissed in anguish when Éomer and Gúthwyn rejoined him and Haiweth on the steps. "Auntie Éowyn and Uncle Faramir are already inside. We are going to be late!"

"We will be fine," Éomer comforted him, biting back a grin. "Besides, we have to wait until King Elessar and Queen Arwen say their greetings first…"

Gúthwyn went over to Hammel and Haiweth, who had drawn into a corner and were conversing in hushed voices. They stopped when they saw her approach.

"Hammel, are you all right?" she asked, glancing at his arm. Though it was covered by his sleeve, she would have been willing to bet that there was now a bruise swelling where Éomer's hand had been.

When Hammel would not meet her gaze, she sighed—she could not press the matter, for Éomer was now guiding Elfwine inside and gesturing for her to follow. "Come along, then," she murmured, hoping against hope that neither of the children would cause a scene in front of Legolas and Thranduil.

Fortunately, when they entered the main hall there were so many people inside that at first they could scarcely even see Legolas. Only as they moved forward, keeping close to Éomer and Elfwine, did he come into view: sitting on one of two wooden thrones at the far end of the room, laughing at something Aragorn had said. Gúthwyn felt some of the tension in her body dissipate at the sight of him, only to increase tenfold when she looked to his right and saw Thranduil staring directly at her.

Daunted by those steel-grey eyes, she cringed and averted her gaze. In the brief glimpse she had caught of him, only one thing had changed since their first meeting: his crown, which had once been fashioned of crimson leaves and now bore still-opening flowers. Yes, spring had arrived in the forests of Middle-earth; but the Elvenking had not thawed, not one bit.

"Is that Legolas's father?" Haiweth whispered, horror-struck. Hammel shot Gúthwyn a glare, as if to say, _This is all your fault._

Gúthwyn tried to ignore him. "Aye, little one, it is. He is not so…" _Stern as he looks,_ she wanted to say, but she could not bring herself to lie, when in truth she feared King Thranduil's bite was far worse than his bark.

Haiweth's anxiety grew noticeably when Gúthwyn could not finished her sentence. Knowing all too well how she felt, Gúthwyn tried to distract herself by examining her surroundings: the wide arches of the roof above, the festive garlands of myrtle strung between each pillar, the orange light slanting through the open windows. On either side of the hall stood dozens of Elves, none of whom Gúthwyn recognized; she assumed they had arrived with Thranduil. Most of them were golden-haired like their king and prince, but ever and anon she saw an Elf with darker plaits. The figures of those with their backs to the sun cast tall and menacing shadows upon the ground before them. She did not look into their eyes.

Then she saw something that made her smile: Elfwine at his father's side, standing on tiptoes to get a better view of Thranduil.

"Papa, I cannot see him," he whispered, thankfully in Rohirric—his voice was loud enough to carry to those nearby. "Does he look like Leggy? When do we get to meet him?"

"Soon," Éomer murmured, while his men exchanged amused glances. "Now be still, King Elessar is talking to Legg—Prince Legolas."

Gúthwyn stifled a giggle, then turned her attention to the front of the room. She could not understand most of what Aragorn, Arwen, Legolas, and Thranduil were saying—with the exception of a word or two in Westron, the conversation was being conducted entirely in Elvish—but it seemed to be winding down. A few minutes later, Aragorn and Arwen stepped to the side, and it was Éowyn and Faramir's turn to come forward. As they did, Gúthwyn felt the distinct weight of someone's gaze. She glanced up and saw Legolas watching her; when their eyes met, he smiled before turning back to Éowyn and Faramir.

There was an odd fluttering sensation in her stomach, one that she was sure had nothing to do with Legolas and everything to do with the sudden ripple of movement Aragorn and Arwen's departure had caused. Those behind Éowyn and Faramir could now step forward, Gúthwyn included, bringing her that much closer to Thranduil. Was he still watching her? No, he was speaking to Éowyn and Faramir, inquiring about their journey—she was safe, for the moment.

That moment became considerably shorter when it was Éomer and Elfwine's turn to greet their hosts. Gúthwyn held her breath, but she had little cause to worry: Éomer was always eloquent in these situations, which over the years had disarmed many who believed the Rohirrim to be less civilized than their Gondorian counterparts, and Thranduil seemed content to let Legolas take the lead in the exchange. Gúthwyn briefly wondered if the Elvenking was using this time to size up her brother, evaluating him against whatever standards he held for Men, before deciding that she was being paranoid.

At length, Éomer presented Elfwine, and the young prince eagerly sank into a bow—how many times had he practiced this maneuver, Gúthwyn wondered, performing it over and over again until he could be sure of impressing Leggy's papa? His movements were remarkably steady, but the excitement shining on his face gave him away, and both Legolas and Thranduil had to hide their smiles when he straightened.

"Well met, Prince Elfwine," Thranduil spoke, affecting a formal tone. "I have heard a great deal about you. Legolas tells me that your name means 'Elf-friend.'"

Elfwine glanced at Legolas, who gave him an encouraging nod. Gúthwyn could have melted at the sight. "I am friends with lots of Elves! I told Papa I want to live here with Leg…olas and Trelan and Faelon, but he says I cannot."

Éomer muttered something under his breath as a ripple of laughter passed through the hall. Gúthwyn kept her eyes on Thranduil, anxious to discern his mood, and was relieved when she saw an amused, even indulgent grin.

"Your home may be elsewhere," Thranduil acknowledged, inclining his head towards Éomer, "but I think I may venture to speak for both Legolas and myself when I say that you are most welcome here."

Elfwine thanked him with a nod, unintentionally mimicking the Elvenking's gesture. Thranduil's smile widened. "How old are you, Elfwine?"

"Seven!" Elfwine paused, then sheepishly amended, "Well, _almost_ seven. My birthday is June thirteenth, the same as Auntie Gúthwyn. How old are you?"

Gúthwyn felt Thranduil's gaze upon her; but as those in the hall heard Elfwine's question and began to titter, the mood lightened and Thranduil answered, "I am far older than seven."

When Éomer finally steered an awed Elfwine to the side, Gúthwyn's heart nearly failed her, and in the seconds of silence that followed she wondered if she would not be able to step forward. It was the sight of Haiweth, pale as the frost that glittered upon Emyn Arnen in the last days of autumn, that compelled her to act. Summoning her courage, she motioned for the children to follow—after a slight hesitation, they did—and approached the thrones.

If someone had asked her after what greeting she gave to Legolas and Thranduil, she could not have said. Her heart was beating wildly, muting all other sounds, until the only thing left was a nauseating _thump-thump_, _thump-thump_. When she ducked her head and curtsied, she was convinced that every Elf in the hall could hear her shallow breathing and see how sweaty her palms had become.

She straightened, unsure of whether to look at Legolas or Thranduil first, and compromised by staring at the floor. Wild, horrific scenarios were racing through her head: what if Thranduil started interrogating her in front of everyone about her education, or her marriage prospects, revealing to all that she had little of either? What if Hammel simply refused to pay his respects, or, worse, actually insulted Legolas? And what if her heart continued pounding so loudly that she could not hear anything they said to her, and she had to keep asking Thranduil to repeat himself?

Legolas's voice quelled her frantic thoughts, comforting in two respects: first, she could understand him perfectly; and second, his words were both gentle and welcoming, as though he knew how nervous she was and sought to allay her fears. "Lady Gúthwyn, thank you for joining us. I pray you had a pleasant journey."

She dared to lift her gaze, this time looking only at Legolas. He was smiling at her, and the familiar sight eased her nerves—nay, it did more than that, it made her truly happy to see him. She thought of how supportive he had been to Elfwine while the boy was being questioned by Thranduil, and gratitude overwhelmed her as she answered, "I did, thank you."

"That is… wonderful." He seemed to want to say more, yet his lips stilled at a sidelong glance from Thranduil. With no small amount of trepidation, Gúthwyn turned towards the Elvenking, whose features were exquisitely blank. She had no idea what to say—should she thank him? But for what? He had not invited her, after all; Legolas was undoubtedly the only reason he was even tolerating her presence; and now he was watching her flounder, making no move to help her.

Finally, when Gúthwyn thought she would suffocate under the observation of everyone in the hall, to say nothing of the cool grey eyes boring holes into her own, Thranduil gave the slightest tilt of his head.

"These must be Hammel and Haiweth."

Gúthwyn froze, keenly aware of what the onlookers would think: that Thranduil had had to prompt her to introduce the children, as if she were such an idiot when it came to courtly affairs that she could not even follow the most basic proceedings. In truth, she had rehearsed this moment at length, and had been deciding between "Allow me to present Hammel and Haiweth" and "If I may, allow me to present Hammel and Haiweth"—but now Thranduil had veered off-script, leaving her fumbling for the right words.

"Yes," she finally managed, gesturing for Hammel and Haiweth to step forward. How clumsy, how indiscreet she must have looked! "These are the children in my care."

_Thank you, Haiweth,_ she thought as the girl gave a beautiful curtsy, one that even Thranduil could not have found fault in. Hammel's bow passed muster, but barely; it was just deep enough to avoid comment, and no more. When he raised his head, Gúthwyn saw him glance at Éomer, whose glower did not waver.

"Welcome, Hammel and Haiweth." Thranduil's eyes flickered once between Hammel and Éomer before he said, "This is certainly a long-anticipated meeting."

Gúthwyn flushed, the blood pooling into her cheeks a mixture of embarrassment and anger. She had not been able to come up with a sufficient excuse for Hammel and Haiweth's absence when she had first met Thranduil, something he had obviously noticed—but there was no reason to be bringing it up here, now, asking Hammel and Haiweth to account for it in front of an audience.

Before either of the children could answer, Legolas intervened. "We are both glad you are here. I hope you will find your stay enjoyable."

Haiweth managed to thank him, her voice piping tremulously through the air, but Hammel only gave a curt nod. After a few strained pleasantries on Legolas and Gúthwyn's part, the interview was concluded, much to the relief of all involved. Hammel and Haiweth repeated their genuflections with far more enthusiasm now that they were leaving, and Gúthwyn gave one last curtsy before starting to turn away.

Legolas's voice rang out behind her, at first loud and clear, then quiet and stumbling, as though he had not meant to speak so forcefully. "It is good to… to see you."

With her back almost to him, Gúthwyn paused; then she realized he was addressing her, and only her. Pivoting on her heel, she locked eyes with him and regretted it instantly. Something about that gaze had always thrown her off, making it nigh impossible to maintain her wits.

"Thank you," she murmured at last. Offering another curtsy—no small feat, when her body was thus twisted—she turned to follow Hammel and Haiweth. As she did, she noticed Gamling muttering something in Erkenbrand's ear, and the astonishment that rippled across Halwend's face when he overheard. Wondering what that was about, she joined her siblings at the side of the hall, glad to have finished with the formalities.

The guests were conducted swiftly to their rooms; the feast was to take place that very night, and all would want to rest before the meal began. Well, perhaps not all: Gúthwyn overheard Elfwine begging Éomer to go outside with him so they could watch the Elves at the archery range. Failing that, he wanted to play with Leggy, _now_, _please?_

For once, Gúthwyn was glad that her nephew was in someone else's care. After she had ensured that Hammel and Haiweth were situated in their rooms (Hammel cast a disparaging look at the bookshelves in his, as though he suspected Legolas had moved them there in a sinister plot to get into his good graces), she retired to her own chambers and wasted little time before shedding her outer garments and crawling into bed. As soon as her head touched the pillow, she was asleep.

She awoke to a burst of laughter. Blinking, she sat up, and realized that at least a couple of hours had passed: darkness had descended upon her room, and her stomach was growling. Outside, the revelry had already begun—she could hear snatches of conversation and song, sometimes near and loud, sometimes distant and soft. When she pulled back the curtains to investigate, she saw groups of Elves passing through the gardens, talking merrily with one another, their paths lit by the stars above and the glow of the lanterns strung up in the surrounding trees.

By contrast, when she poked her head out into the hallway, the air was still and quiet; and since no one had come to wake her, she assumed the Elves outside were getting an early start on the festivities. Well, she was in no hurry to join them. She pulled the curtains shut and set about lighting the candles, filling the room with a warm, soft glow. Then, after making sure the door was locked, she went behind the privacy screen and stripped, using the washbasin for a careful, thorough scrubbing. She was determined to look her best tonight, so that she might earn some measure of approval from Thranduil. Or at least not sink any lower in his esteem.

"I do not know why he cares so much," she grumbled, drying herself with a soft towel. Thranduil never seemed to subject Éowyn to the same scrutiny, whereas Gúthwyn felt like she was being repeatedly held up for examination and each time found wanting. Was it because of her unmarried state? She could not imagine why this would matter to an Elf of his importance. Then again, he must have interacted with the Men of Lake-town enough to know that her circumstances were unusual, and that a single woman of her age (thirty in only a few months! She could hardly believe it) was considered an oddity. Perhaps he did not want Legolas's reputation to be tarnished by association?

She thought of the boys Haiweth had danced with at Minas Tirith, each of them whisked away afterwards by a relative or an acquaintance, warning them not to get too close to the daughter of a whore. Had she been mistaken to think Thranduil would be any different? There seemed to be little of his son in him: whereas Legolas was kind and compassionate, the Elvenking was cold and remote, as unreachable as the moon.

Gúthwyn had a strange, fleeting wish that she could have met Legolas's mother. Was she the one who had given him his ability to look past outward appearances, his willingness to see similarities instead of differences? Was she responsible for the gentleness that was so reassuring to Éomund's daughter?

Alas, it was too late for that. Legolas did not speak often of her, but Gúthwyn's impression, from what little he had revealed, was that she had passed over the Sea some time ago with no intention of returning. Gúthwyn did not understand why she had gone—how could someone abandon their only child?—but this was not a question she desired to ask Legolas.

Setting aside the towel, she tied on a dressing gown and walked barefoot to her wardrobe. In a moment of indecision, she had packed two possible outfits for the feast: one in her customary grey, albeit with elaborate detail-work, and another in blue, a gift from Éomer that she had often received compliments on. Now she looked at them both, vacillating. With the grey, she might hope to fade into the background, unnoticed; yet the blue would have her siblings' approval.

She had just reached for the grey when there was a knock at the door. "Come in," she called, removing the gown from its hook.

Éowyn and Haiweth entered the room. Both were already dressed for the evening in similar shades of morning blue. With their golden hair flowing freely down their shoulders, they looked like they could have been relatives; Haiweth certainly bore a stronger resemblance to Éowyn than to Gúthwyn. Gúthwyn briefly wondered if they had coordinated their outfits, and a coil of jealousy tightened around her heart.

"Are you wearing that?" Haiweth asked, frowning when she saw the garment in Gúthwyn's hands.

The question stung. What was wrong with her grey dress, and what right did Haiweth have to comment on it? Trying to keep her voice steady, she inquired, "What do you mean?"

But Haiweth was no longer looking at her; she had turned back to Éowyn, and the two of them were exchanging a glance—a significant one, and one from which Gúthwyn was thoroughly excluded.

"What is the matter?" she asked, unable to conceal her irritation.

Éowyn cleared her throat. "My apologies, this is my fault. I meant to stop by earlier, but Elboron had trouble waking up from his nap and I got distracted—Well, anyway," she continued hastily, as Gúthwyn's mood worsened, "I wanted to bring you this. For tonight."

Even before Éowyn revealed what she had been carrying behind her back, Gúthwyn knew what it would be; and as she beheld the white dress, with its translucent sleeves and long, flowing skirt, her first thought was not of gratitude but dismay. As if tonight, with an Elvenking seemingly determined to root out her every last flaw and fault, she needed another reason to stand out. In reality, perhaps no one outside of Gondor cared if she wore white, but she hated how exposed the color made her feel. And Éowyn was well aware of that.

Yet she did not want to offend her sister, and so she swallowed and thanked her. "You did not have to—you should not spend so much money on me—"

Éowyn laughed at her alarm. "Nonsense, consider it an early birthday present if you must."

"But—"

"I designed it," Haiweth hastily announced. "It was supposed to be for the new year celebrations at Minas Tirith, but we had to send away for the fabric and it took longer to get here than we expected."

Her words left Gúthwyn with no choice but to mumble something along the lines of "Oh, indeed?" and retreat behind the privacy screen to change, which Gúthwyn suspected had been Haiweth's intent. Already longing for her grey gown, she undid her robe and quickly threw on a shift—she was always embarrassed by her nakedness, no matter how brief. She stepped into the dress, taking care not to yank at the fabric, and marveled at how light it was; she might have been wearing nothing but air.

"How does it look?" Haiweth called impatiently.

Gúthwyn glanced down at herself. There was a shimmering quality to this dress that pleased her, and it certainly felt wonderful, but without a mirror in front of her she could only guess at the final effect. She took a deep breath and emerged from the safety of the privacy screen, submitting to Éowyn and Haiweth's opinions.

Their reactions were immediate, overwhelming, and (if she had to admit it to herself) the tiniest bit flattering—they both made exclamations, their eyes widening in delight, and Haiweth declared that it looked even better in person than it had in her imagination. In spite of herself, Gúthwyn began to yield; she let them convince her that the dress should be worn, that it ought to be worn, and that she was the person to wear it.

"Now we have to put flowers in our hair," Haiweth said when the matter was settled.

Gúthwyn gave her a blank look. "Why?"

"It is the latest fashion in Gondor," Haiweth explained, her incredulous tone suggesting that it was beyond her how anyone could be so ignorant of what Gondorian noblewomen put in their hair. "Everyone was wearing them in Minas Tirith, do you not remember?"

Gúthwyn racked her memory and realized that she did in fact have a vague recollection of seeing flowers somewhere… Then some truly heinous hair ornaments came to mind, and she was unable to suppress a grimace.

Éowyn started laughing. "Worry not, baby sister, we will not aim to be so adventurous tonight. I suppose you are thinking of Lady Emelin's flower nest?"

Gúthwyn had no idea who Lady Emelin was, but Haiweth immediately groaned. "With the fake yellow birds? That was awful! I heard one of the women saying she looked like a tree."

Éowyn snorted, then remarked to Gúthwyn, "We shall be content with a few flowers in our hair, I think. Excuse me for a moment." She stepped out into the hallway and retrieved something that had been sitting by the door: a small basket brimming with spring blossoms. "Haiweth, you wanted the forget-me-nots, correct?"

"Er, where did you get those?" Gúthwyn asked, hoping they had not been pilfered from Legolas's gardens.

"I found them in the woods. Legolas's flower beds are quite safe."

Gúthwyn flushed as her underlying concerns were exposed, but a twinkling in Éowyn's eye assured her that no offense had been taken.

"I am going to make a crown with mine," Haiweth informed them, her hands filled with forget-me-nots. "Éowyn, do you want me to make you one, too?"

"No, thank you, I will just tuck a few behind my ear."

Haiweth nodded, looking rather disappointed, and started picking out the flowers she wanted to use. Gúthwyn watched her sort deftly through the stems; when a second offer was not forthcoming, she said quietly, "You can make me one, if you want."

"What?" Haiweth's head snapped up. "Oh, no—" Her cheeks reddened when she realized the oversight. "You have to tie yours into your hair, like Queen Arwen. She used the white flowers, and it looked really pretty because her hair is so dark. And yours is almost the same color as hers."

Gúthwyn decided to take that as a compliment. "All right," she conceded, "but I have not the slightest clue as to how one would go about tying flowers into their hair."

"I think you had better leave that to me and Haiweth," Éowyn replied with a smirk. "Let me brush your hair while Haiweth finishes her crown."

This was nice, Gúthwyn thought a few minutes later: her, Éowyn, and Haiweth all preparing for the feast together, making light, pleasant conversation that carefully avoided any sore subjects. Haiweth worked intently on her project, weaving the flowers together with a patience that Gúthwyn could never have achieved at that age, and spoke little; but Éowyn readily supplied most of the chatter, amusing them with stories of her and Gúthwyn's childhoods.

Once Haiweth had completed her coronet, she used some pins to fasten it to her hair and then spun around, showing it off to Éowyn and Gúthwyn. She was breathless and giggling when she stopped, and Gúthwyn felt a deep sense of relief that there were no boys her age at the colony.

"Now it is your turn, baby sister," Éowyn said then, banishing the thought.

However Queen Arwen had arranged the flowers in her hair during the new year celebrations, Haiweth seemed determined to recreate the exact same look on Gúthwyn. She had very precise instructions on where to position each blossom, which Éowyn accepted with good humor. Not allowed to see herself in the mirror ("You have to wait until it is done!"), Gúthwyn did her best to sit still while the two of them threaded the star-shaped blossoms into her hair.

"What kind of flowers are these?" she asked, holding up one of them and rolling the thick stem between her fingers. She was certain she had not seen its like before.

"They come from the south," Éowyn explained, "and it is said the Haradrim have a word for them which means 'star cluster' in our tongue. Not much is known about them, for they only started showing up after the war. Faramir believes that some of the men who journeyed to those lands with King Elessar might have taken a liking to them and brought them back here. Yet how they ended up growing wild, I could not say."

Glad that a longer lecture about the plant's properties had been averted (between Éowyn and Nestadan, Gúthwyn had endured more than her fair share of these since arriving in Emyn Arnen), Gúthwyn smiled and said, "Well, they are beautiful."

"Done!" Haiweth declared after a moment. "What do you think?"

Gúthwyn looked over her shoulder at the mirror, and heard a small gasp that she realized was her own. "Haiweth, this is wonderful," she said, admiring the contrast of the white petals against her dark tresses. It was as if someone had wandered by while she was sleeping and scattered a handful of flowers into her hair, yet artfully so; such was Haiweth's eye for these things. "Thank you, I love it."

Haiweth glowed at the praise, and her smile lingered as she helped Éowyn gather the clipped stems. While they were cleaning, there was a knock at the door; it was Faramir and Elboron, the latter of which was apparently refusing to sit still long enough for his boots to be put on. Éowyn left with them, telling Gúthwyn she would see her at the feast, and Haiweth departed shortly afterwards to finish brushing her hair.

Alone again, Gúthwyn concluded her final preparations. She tucked her necklace safely in a drawer, as it did not complement the gown, and slipped on a comfortable pair of shoes. Then she stood with her back to the mirror once more, unable to resist another examination of Haiweth's handiwork.

For the third time that night, a knock sounded at the door. "Come in," she called, still gazing at the flowers.

Cobryn entered the room. "Are you ready?" he asked, stepping forward—and then he stopped short, his eyes drawn to the mirror.

Gúthwyn smiled, expecting him to tease her for being so vain, but no sarcastic quip was forthcoming. Instead, there was a pause before he remarked, "You look—very nice."

Gúthwyn turned back to him, raising her eyebrows. "You sound surprised."

"Nay, I—" It was a rare occasion to see Cobryn flustered, and Gúthwyn could not ascertain whether he was now, but there was definitely more color in his cheeks than usual. "I did not mean to offer insult. I simply was not expecting the flowers. They suit you well."

She blushed as she thanked him, and it was a relief when a jesting note slipped back into his voice. "Yet something tells me they were not your idea."

"Éowyn and Haiweth did it," she admitted.

Cobryn laughed heartily at that, and she tried to roll her eyes, but halfway through she gave up and joined in. "You should have seen Haiweth," she said when at last they caught their breath. "I believe she rather enjoyed bossing me around."

"It is a good thing you listened."

Gúthwyn elbowed him. "I am not the only one who dressed up for the occasion," she said, nodding pointedly at his outfit. He had donned a dark red tunic with a hint of embroidery at the sleeves, which she knew for a fact was his finest shirt, and he had exchanged his normal leggings for a darker pair of trousers. The effect was handsome, and she wished he could have put such care into his appearance more often, if only so that others would not overlook him.

Cobryn glanced down at himself, harrumphed—which was how she could tell she had scored a point—and gestured towards the door.

"Shall we?"


	99. Dinner and a Mystery

**Chapter Ninety-Nine**

"You have done well tonight, Legolas," Thranduil remarked.

The doors to the great hall had been thrown open the feast, and a steady stream of guests was trickling through. Thranduil and Legolas stood just inside the entrance, offering words of welcome to each arrival. The room was humming with conversation—mostly Sindarin, but here and there a few strains of the Common Tongue broke through. Over a hundred of their kinsmen had gathered within the lantern- and garland-bedecked walls, congregating at the long tables that had been set out for the meal.

"Thank you, father," Legolas replied. He was unable to resist adding, "I appreciate your willingness to accommodate my unconventional guest choices."

Thranduil's mouth quirked at that, and Legolas saw his gaze slide to the foremost of the tables, where the majority of those unconventional choices were seated. Merry and Pippin had been the first to enter the hall, and were already well into the snacks that had been laid out precisely for their benefit. Gimli and his father, Glóin, were seated nearby; unsurprisingly, the conversation at that section of the table was louder than anywhere else.

"You do have some interesting friends," Thranduil agreed. "Dwarves, Hobbits… not to mention an ardent admirer in a human princeling of only six years."

Legolas waited until they had exchanged a few pleasantries with one of Thranduil's advisors; then he said, "I thought you liked Elfwine."

"I find young children amusing, yes. And precious, for they have not yet inherited the weaknesses of their kind."

Legolas wondered if all races were included in his father's remark, or just humans. He was about to change the subject when Thranduil added in a gentler tone, "He reminds me of you, when you were not yet a quarter of a century old."

"How so?" Legolas asked, hard-pressed to conceal his surprise.

"You were always very eager to make friends," Thranduil answered, "and unlike your companions you were never intimidated by adults. You were confident in their adoration and secure in your family's love, just like Elfwine is now."

Legolas smiled at this assessment. He had not thought of it that way when he was younger, but Thranduil's words rang true when he considered Elfwine's carefree interactions with anyone in his path, regardless of their age or position.

In jest, he queried, "Then what weakness have I since inherited?"

Before Thranduil could answer, their attention was diverted by Arwen and Aragorn's arrival. Arwen was clad in deep, dark blue, and her hair was pulled back beneath a sparkling headpiece, recalling the twilight for which she had been named. Beside her, Aragorn was no less regal in silver. The Elfstone shone upon his breast and the Ring of Barahir glimmered on his hand, displaying the memory and heritage of his ancestors' houses.

"You look presentable," Legolas teased him while Thranduil and Arwen exchanged greetings. He still was not used to seeing his friend without a layer of dirt somewhere on his person.

Aragorn grinned, unperturbed. "And you, _mellon-nin_, look like you picked the wrong outfit to wear while dining with Dwarves."

Legolas glanced down at his white tunic, then followed Aragorn's gaze to where Gimli was guzzling a tankard of ale—most of it winding up in his beard. "Fortunately, you will be closer to him than I," he returned with a smirk. Gimli's seating assignment was not a reflection of his eating habits; Legolas had simply learned the hard way that Gimli and Thranduil preferred one another in minimal doses, and so had placed his friend further from the head of the table than he would have otherwise. Gimli, he knew, would not take offense.

"Worry not, young prince, I shall protect you," Aragorn assured him, the corners of his mouth twitching.

Legolas rolled his eyes. Ever since Aragorn had reached an age at which he could be considered mature among Men, and even elderly by the standards of lesser bloodlines (yet not that of Númenor), he had taken pleasure from the fact that, in the eyes of his people, he was older than an Elf nearly three thousand years his senior. Legolas, being the supportive friend that he was, had decided to tolerate these delusions.

No sooner had Aragorn and Arwen departed for their table than another group arrived to take their place. The next fifteen minutes were a blur of names and faces, many of which Legolas had only seen occasionally since his removal from Eryn Lasgalen. Their praises for the colony's dwellings, and especially for the restoration of the forest, were received gratefully.

In the lull that followed, Thranduil caught Legolas's eye, and his proud smile said more than any words Legolas might have hoped for. And indeed, they did not have the opportunity to speak, as there was a sudden influx of voices that could only mean one thing: another party had arrived, with yet more guests to attend to.

Legolas turned to face the group and felt the breath vanish from his lips. It was the company from Rohan and Emyn Arnen, livelier than most on account of its youngest members: Elboron, who was laughing at the lights twinkling around them; and Elfwine, who was describing everything in sight to a tired-looking Éomer ("Papa, do you see that Elf? And that one there? And that one? There are so many Elves!").

Yet it was not the children's clamor that had caught Legolas's attention, that struck him dumb and left him to wonder if he would ever recover those missing heartbeats. For behind her siblings, standing a few feet apart from them and gazing around the hall, was Gúthwyn as he had never seen her before. She wore a dress of pure white, a rare and beautiful color on her—as precious as the _niphredil_ that grew on the slopes of Cerin Amroth in Lothlórien, or the foam upon the crests of the Sea that ever called to him. Her sleeves were sheer, with slits that offered tantalizing glimpses of her slender arms; her pale skin glowed beneath the lights.

He half-wondered if he were in a dream, one that became even lovelier when she turned to speak to Cobryn and he saw what she had done with her hair. Someone—it could not have been her, he knew instinctively that she would never have had the patience to do it herself—had woven flowers into her long, flowing tresses, like stars strewn across a velvety sky.

The desire that filled him was at once terrifying and overpowering; he longed so desperately to hold her, to gather her in his arms and never let her go. What would it be like to run his fingers through her hair, inhaling the fragrance of those endless waves? To trace the seams of her sleeves, skimming the flesh below? Or to dip his head towards hers, gently capturing her lips, and feel them part beneath his in a soft welcome…

All of this passed through his mind in but an instant; he dared not look any longer, lest her eyes meet his. Surely she would know, would comprehend in an instant what he wanted—and then, no matter how far their friendship had come, there remained the possibility that she would take fright and bolt. All of their painstaking progress, every tentative step forward, would be lost in an instant, and he would have no one to blame but himself.

"That."

"What?" Shaken from his thoughts, Legolas glanced in confusion at his father.

Gone was Thranduil's proud expression; in its place was something that settled uncomfortably in the pit of Legolas's stomach.

"What?" he repeated, dreading the answer.

The Elvenking would not look at his son. Instead he stared at Gúthwyn, his eyes hard and cold. As she and her family drew closer, he lowered his voice, though they were speaking in Sindarin. "You asked what weakness you had inherited. That is it. You wear your heart on your sleeve, just like your mother once did. And though I love you for it, long have I feared it would be your undoing. Now I know I was right to be so afraid."

Thranduil had timed his words so that there was no opportunity for Legolas to respond before their guests stood before them. As if they had discussed nothing more than the weather, the Elvenking turned to his visitors, presenting such a mask of amiability that even his own son could not spot the seams.

By contrast, Legolas would never remember the greeting he gave to Éomer, and it was long before he felt he had recovered from his father's words.

* * *

><p>Gúthwyn's dinner was untouched on her plate—not because it was anything short of magnificent, but because there was so much else around her to take in, to see and to hear. She could have sworn the enormous table in front of her was sagging beneath the weight of all the dishes on its surface: everything from enormous wheels of cheese to platters of roasted onions, more types of bread than she could count, bowls of blackberries and clotted cream, cuts of venison that were fortunately nowhere near her, and other foods she could not even begin to identify.<p>

All around, there was conversation and music, laughter and song. In Meduseld the sounds of feasting always came together in a merry clash, but here they complemented one another, with no single element overpowering the rest. It was as if the room had taken on its own language, one that she was learning in bits and pieces.

From where she sat, she had a clear view of the table that had been commandeered by Éomer and Faramir's men. At first, the two groups had merely acknowledged each other; now, spirits bolstered by the atmosphere and tongues loosened with ale, they were sharing toasts and swapping stories like old comrades. Halwend was among them, his youthful face alight with mirth, and Gúthwyn reminded herself to introduce him to Merry—before he had much more to drink.

_And before Merry does, too._ She could not see the Hobbit very well, since they were separated by Éowyn, Éomer, and Elfwine; but if Pippin was anything to go by, she would have to make her move sooner rather than later. The younger Hobbit had wobbled dangerously when standing up to greet his dining companions, and there was a small stack of empty cups by his plate.

Once turned in that direction, it was only natural for her eyes to alight upon Legolas. He sat with his father at the head of the table, both of them sipping wine from long-stemmed goblets. Thranduil wore sumptuous robes of grey, or at least she thought they were grey—the more she looked at them, the more they kept shifting and changing beneath the light, until she had no notion of their color at all. Yet Legolas was resplendent in white, and Gúthwyn had to struggle not to notice how handsome he was.

Earlier that night, when she had entered the hall with her siblings and seen him greeting guests at the door, she had been tempted to joke that they were matching, for her dress was of the same hue. But he had seemed preoccupied throughout their encounter, barely even looking at her, and she had decided against it. With Thranduil watching, his keen eyes alert as ever, she did not want to provide any fodder for criticism.

Legolas's indifference, however, had bothered her more than she cared to admit, though she reminded herself that his duties as a host had to supercede their friendship. She observed him now and saw that he appeared to be in good spirits once more; he was listening with rapt attention to one of Lord Elrond's sons, and the familiar smile had returned to his face.

Yet he did not look over, and she did not want Thranduil to notice her, so she pulled her gaze away and examined the rest of the table. On Thranduil's left were Arwen and Aragorn, and across from them the twins; they spoke chiefly in Elvish, and she had no idea what they were saying. To the right of Elrohir—or was it Elladan? Gúthwyn had given up on telling them apart—and atop several cushions sat Pippin, Merry opposite him. Surprisingly, the Hobbits had drifted into separate conversations: Pippin was engaged with Faramir, who fed Elboron while opining on Gondorian politics, and Merry had commenced a lively discussion with Éowyn and Éomer regarding similarities between the languages of Rohan and the Shire. "The word _mathom_," she heard him say, "is of particular interest…"

Stifling a yawn, Gúthwyn glanced down at Elfwine, who was nestled between her and Éomer. The boy was well into his second serving of mashed potatoes, which he consumed rapidly, his wide eyes staring over the table at Gimli and Glóin. It was the first time he had ever seen Dwarves, and he was mesmerized (not to mention, Gúthwyn thought, rather envious that no one seemed to care about their table manners). She watched him for a moment, smiling at how adorable he was.

"This year promises to be even better than last." Glóin's voice boomed across the table, drawing her attention. Gimli had introduced her to his father at the beginning of the meal, though she could have made the connection on her own: they wore their beards in identical fashion, despite the contrast between the snowy white of Glóin's and the copper brown of Gimli's, and they were dressed alike in burgundy and gold.

"Aye." Gimli punctuated his assent with a belch. "If things keep going the way they have—I cannot remember the last time I saw Bifur. He spends more time with the toymakers of Dale than with his own kinsman!"

"Strange lad," Glóin muttered, though he did not seem annoyed. "And there are others just like him…"

Gúthwyn and Elfwine were not the only ones eavesdropping. On Glóin's right, and directly across from Gúthwyn, Hammel had abandoned his meal and was looking over at the Dwarves with keen interest. When Gimli began recounting a visit he had made to the forges, which from the sound of it did not stop running even at night, Hammel leaned almost imperceptibly closer, trying to soak up every word. As soon as there was a lull in the conversation, he took a deep breath and astonished Gúthwyn by politely inquiring as to whether they were blacksmiths.

"Blacksmiths!" Glóin snorted. Upon seeing Hammel's abashed expression, however, he softened and added, "Nay, lad, I can kindle a fire with the best of them, but my dealings are with gold, not iron."

Hammel tried to conceal his disappointment. "I see."

"You wish to be a blacksmith?" Gimli inquired. "It is hard work, but a noble profession."

Hammel cast a furtive, embarrassed look at Haiweth, who was sitting next to him and had overheard everything; she did not trouble to hide her smirk. Fortunately, Gúthwyn had just enough time to pretend to be absorbed in her own dinner. "I do not know," she heard Hammel mutter after a moment. "I read a book on it."

"And what can a book inform you of such a craft?" Glóin scoffed. "Any Dwarf worth his salt could tell you more than a whole library full of them. First of all…"

Fighting the urge to laugh, Gúthwyn glanced over at Cobryn. With the exception of Haiweth, who was on his left, he had not been positioned well for agreeable conversation, as he was otherwise surrounded by Elves: Faelon, Raniean, and Trelan, to be precise, the latter of which was beside Gúthwyn and the only barrier between her and Raniean. She had been trying to ignore that end of the table, and thus had barely interacted with Cobryn, save for a few smiles; now she was surprised to see him chatting easily with Faelon, something about swords.

Having long admired Faelon's prowess with a blade, Gúthwyn tried to listen in, but their voices were drowned out by Gimli, Glóin, and Hammel's discussion. With a sigh, she turned back to Elfwine, and saw that he had finished his mashed potatoes and was now working his way through some sort of cake.

"How are you holding up, little one?" she inquired, tucking a loose strand of hair behind his ear.

"Auntie Gúthwyn, have you tried this?" Elfwine demanded. Whatever 'this' was, he had managed to get a sticky residue from it all over his hands, mouth, and shirt. "It is the best! I want to eat it forever and ever."

Laughing, Gúthwyn accepted the piece he offered her. "What is it?"

Elfwine shrugged, already eying the rest of the cakes on a nearby platter.

Her few experiences with strange food generally being ones she would prefer to forget—Amrothos's black pudding came to mind—Gúthwyn nibbled at a corner of the cake with some trepidation. An instant later, her eyes widened and she took a much larger bite.

"You are right, little one," she said when she was done. Elfwine beamed: for once, an adult had learned something new from _him_. "This is very good. I wonder what it is."

"You still have some on your mouth." Elfwine pointed, looking even more thrilled by this turn of events. Undoubtedly Lothíriel was never so messy with her food.

Although she should have been setting a good example for her nephew, Gúthwyn could not resist the temptation to lick her lips, discreetly savoring the last of the syrup. Of course, no sooner had she done this than she became certain that someone was watching her. She glanced up, fully prepared to regret her lapse in etiquette, and locked eyes with Legolas.

Her cheeks flooded with heat, but at least she was not the only one who was discomfited. Legolas smiled faintly at her, as if their gazes had just happened to meet; yet she knew from how quickly he turned away that he had been observing her, and moreover had not wanted her to notice. Aware that the warmth from her face was now seeping into her stomach, Gúthwyn ducked her head and prayed that Thranduil had not witnessed their interaction.

"Auntie Gúthwyn, can I have _all_ of them?"

"Hm?" It took her a moment to realize that Elfwine was still fixated on the cakes. "No, little one, you have to save some for everyone else. But you can have another at the end of the night."

Elfwine stared at her in dismay. "But what if they are all gone by then?"

Which was how Gúthwyn found herself wrapping one of the cakes in a spare napkin, with a promise that it would be kept safe. She glanced over at Legolas as she worked, but he was firmly ensconced in his conversation with Elrond's sons. Only the faintest trace of red at the tips of his ears indicated that anything had transpired—if indeed anything had transpired. Why had Legolas been looking at her like that? Had he been affronted by her table manners, or…

"Gúthwyn!"

Éomund's daughter jumped; then she saw Haiweth leaning across the table, holding her hair back to keep it out of harm's way. "Look at the doors!" she hissed in Rohirric. Her voice was lowered, and Gúthwyn had the distinct impression that she did not want to be overheard by Hammel. "Can you see her?"

"See who?" Gúthwyn followed Haiweth's gaze, espying only a few guards.

Haiweth gave an exasperated huff. "The Elvish woman with the red hair!"

Gúthwyn turned back just as one of the guards assumed their post: the woman in question, she realized with a start. Her hair was not truly red—not the color of blood, at any rate, which was what Gúthwyn had been expecting—but rather a deep, almost orange hue, like the sun setting fire to all the lands it touched. And it was long, longer even than Gúthwyn's, reaching nearly to her knees.

"She is almost as pretty as Queen Arwen," Haiweth sighed.

There was no higher form of praise to be offered. Gúthwyn smiled before asking, "Has she been here the whole time?"

"No, she just walked in," Haiweth reported, awe and envy fighting for prominence in her expression. "Have you ever seen anyone with red hair?"

Gimli came to mind easily enough, but Gúthwyn knew Haiweth would not have taken a Dwarf into account. Yet her response, or lack thereof, mattered little, for Haiweth continued to gape at the newcomer and likely would not have heard Gúthwyn if she had spoken.

While it was rude to stare, Gúthwyn could not help but glance at the Elf again. Unlike the rest of the guards, who had intricate sets of armor with swirling leaf patterns etched into the steel, the woman was dressed in a simpler fashion, with a flowing green cloak that matched the tunic underneath. Her boots and leggings were a russet color, and the only protection she wore was a light-brown cuirass and vambraces.

As Gúthwyn watched, the woman's gaze roved about the hall, eventually settling on the high table. Haiweth gasped and turned away, afraid she had been caught, but Gúthwyn did not think the woman was looking at either of them. Her guess was confirmed a moment later when the woman smiled—a private, mischievous smile meant for someone further up the table. Gúthwyn risked a glance to her right and saw that the person returning the grin was none other than Legolas.

The exchange was over in a few seconds; yet Gúthwyn continued to observe Legolas after he resumed his conversation with Elrond's sons, and she thought he seemed more inclined to laughter than before. Feeling oddly disquieted, Gúthwyn looked back at the beautiful, mysterious woman, wondering who she was and why Legolas had never mentioned her before.

The woman's face was impassive once more, and there were no answers to be found in her gaze. Gúthwyn eventually gave up and turned away, only to find that Éomer was watching her.

"Yes, brother?" She hoped her voice had not wavered, though he had startled her. Could he hear her pounding heart, or see how clammy her palms had become?

"Are you well?" Éomer inquired, a hint of concern in his voice.

_Wonderful._ So he had noticed—at least in part. "I am fine, thank you."

To her immense displeasure, Éomer's gaze lifted from her to the woman. "Who is she?"

By the grace of the Valar, he was speaking in Rohirric; yet still Gúthwyn answered quietly, aware that Haiweth was trying to listen in. "I have never seen her before."

Éomer's dark eyes pinned her down, sharper than she was used to. She felt them piercing through her flesh. "Legolas seems to know her well."

_Damn it, Éomer, why do you always choose to become perceptive at the least opportune moment?_ Gúthwyn wondered. The air around her was burning hot, and she feared the fire would spread to her cheeks, betraying emotions she could neither explain nor define.

In an effort to maintain her composure, she ensured that her voice was steady, if somewhat wooden, before replying. "I would assume he does."

Éomer did not remove his gaze from her. Unable to endure it, Gúthwyn made a show of arranging the food on her plate, though she had lost her appetite. Where was Elfwine when she needed an interruption? Alas—her nephew was busy playing with his toy soldiers, one of which was "Leggy."

"I am not so oblivious as you may think, baby sister."

The remark was murmured into her ear, leaving a faint imprint of heat—Éomer had leaned over Elfwine so that no one else would hear him. Out of the corner of her eye, Gúthwyn saw him watching her expectantly, as if he hoped she would confess something. But she did not know what he wanted, and already this had gotten so blown out of proportion that tears of frustration were beginning to prickle at her eyelids. Why was Éomer doing this to her? And why did she feel so rattled? None of this was important, it did not matter if Legolas was friends with one of the guards…

Having been jostled by his father, Elfwine glanced up. "Papa, what are you and Auntie Gúthwyn talking about? Will you play battle with me?"

As Éomer was finally distracted—"Did you wipe your hands before bringing those out?"—Gúthwyn finished what was left of her dinner. The food that had been so mouthwatering before now barely registered; she kept her eyes on the crowd, waiting until there was enough movement between the tables to justify getting up and leaving.

Against her will, she could not help but glance every once in a while at the doors. The female Elf stood tall, hands clasped behind her back, surveying the room's occupants—yet her gaze always returned to the front, to where Legolas was sitting with Thranduil.

Once, Gúthwyn felt a tingling sensation down her spine, and had a sudden, unsettling thought that the woman was watching _her_. She stopped looking in that direction entirely lest their eyes meet, despite how foolish she knew she was being—the woman had perhaps glanced at her in passing, but Gúthwyn doubted she would have made the slightest impression. For although she had let Éowyn and Haiweth coax her into a white gown, and although she had allowed them to convince her that she looked wonderful, in truth she now felt immeasurably plain.

Yet that did not explain the sudden tightening of her chest, nor the gloom that had dispelled her enjoyment of the feast. She was bothered by the woman's appearance, by Legolas's evident delight in seeing her (_When he scarcely looked at you,_ came the vicious reminder), by Éomer's keen interest in it all. Which was ridiculous—of course Legolas would have friends she had never met before. And Éomer was always prying, but at least he had good intentions; she ought to have been grateful for his presence, considering she had once thought him dead.

So why, then, did she feel so uneasy?


	100. Of Pipe-weed and Star Clusters

**Chapter One Hundred**

When the guests had had their temporary fill of food (though certainly not of drink), the music swelled with renewed energy, and some of the tables were pushed aside by unseen hands so that the dancing could begin. Gúthwyn would have sought escape then and there, had Elfwine not tugged at her and Éomer's sleeves and begged them to dance with him.

Gúthwyn expected Éomer to decline, but he surprised her by joining them for a few songs. Even more unexpectedly, he proved to be the better dancer of the three, since Elfwine was jumping around with no discernible rhythm and Gúthwyn did more or less the same. At length, however, he begged off, saying he had business to discuss with Gimli.

"And what sort of business would that be?" Gúthwyn asked with a smirk, assuming he had tired of the activity.

Yet Éomer's response was serious. "I have a proposal for him, one I think he will find to his liking."

Before Gúthwyn had a chance to inquire further, Elfwine asked breathlessly, "Can I go with you, Papa? To see Gimli? Please?"

"You may—"

"May I?"

"—as long as you listen quietly and do not interrupt."

Elfwine eagerly agreed, though Gúthwyn suspected he would soon forget his promise; and judging by his skeptical expression, Éomer had the same misgivings. Yet he motioned for Elfwine to follow him all the same, and Gúthwyn grinned as she watched her nephew trot after his father.

"My lady!"

Gúthwyn turned, saw no one, and was about to assume another woman had been addressed when she heard the voice again—at waist level.

"Merry!" she exclaimed. "How does this evening find you?"

"Very well," Merry assured her, producing a pipe from the depths of his pockets. For a moment, with his mouth puckered around the stem, he looked as though he were posing for a portrait. Gúthwyn noticed that his finely tailored jacket, rather nicer than the one he had worn during her travels with him, had a row of brass buttons marching neatly down the lapels. "I have just had an excellent dinner, and am now enjoying equally excellent company."

"Indeed!" Gúthwyn tried not to cough as the smell of pipe-weed filled her nostrils.

"It was nice to finally meet King Thranduil," Merry went on. "Bilbo wrote quite a bit about him, you know. A very wise and fair king, despite the business with the barrels. Now I can say I agree, although"—he lowered his pipe, looked around, and leaned in with a conspiratorial murmur—"I do not think I would want to get on his bad side."

Gúthwyn could not help but giggle, and was rewarded for her indiscretion with a mouthful of smoke.

"Sorry, my lady," Merry apologized when she started gagging. "I forget it is not so common around these parts. The smoking, that is—the leaf grows in abundance in Gondor and the Arnor, yet Hobbits were the first to put it into a pipe. I have done a great deal of research on the matter; it has caught on quite well with the Northern Rangers, but it is rather less popular down here. Perhaps Aragorn will change that."

"Perhaps." She hoped not, if it meant clouds of smoke everywhere in Minas Tirith. "How fare you and Pippin these days? What news from the Shire? How is Sam?"

Fortunately, Merry was not fazed by the barrage of questions, and he cheerfully told her everything she wanted to know—and then some. Pippin and his wife, Diamond, were expecting their first child, to be named after Faramir if it was a boy. Meanwhile, Sam and Rosie's household had expanded yet again; Rosie had just given birth to their fourth child, a boy named Pippin ("They already have a Merry, of course").

As if his growing family and responsibilities as a mayor were not enough, Sam was still diligently updating the book left to him by Frodo, which contained his and Bilbo's accounts of the events prior to and during the War of the Ring. "I have been reading it over for him and making some edits of my own," Merry reported. "He is a gardener, not a writer, after all, but he records everything with a fair eye."

Gúthwyn could imagine Sam plodding dutifully through the pages, determined to carry out his master's final wishes. "Is this where your interest in words came from?" she asked Merry, recalling his earlier conversation with Éowyn and Éomer.

"As a matter of fact, I have Treebeard to thank for that. Entish words are very long, Elvish sounds all strung together—it was the Elves who originally taught them how to speak, of course—and it takes hours to say anything at all, so the Ents do not use it unless they have an important matter to discuss. As it were, once I learned that Elvish and Entish were so entwined, I kept my ears open to see if the same was true for other languages, though I did not expect anything would come close to some of the old words we still use in the Shire…"

Sensing an imminent lecture on a topic in which she had little interest, Gúthwyn quickly changed the subject. "Speaking of Treebeard, there is someone I must introduce to you. Do you remember Halwend?"

Merry not only remembered Halwend, but was in fact still corresponding with him, having found an eager pupil in the young Rider. Gúthwyn therefore brought Merry over to the table where Éomer's men were sitting, and made the introductions; she did not wait to be edged out of the discussion, but rather found an empty seat next to Erkenbrand.

"Lady Gúthwyn!" Erkenbrand raised his tankard, but upon realizing that she had none of her own to clink against his—and perhaps thinking better of the idea to begin with—he smiled ruefully and drained the last of his ale. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

"No particular reason. However"—something had just occurred to her—"now that I think of it, you might be able to tell me something. Do you know what business Éomer has with Gimli? He mentioned a proposal of sorts, but I did not get a chance to learn more about the details."

Erkenbrand considered for a moment; evidently he decided that the matter did not need to be kept a secret, and he explained, "There are few details at present, but Éomer is looking to invite Dwarves to live in the Glittering Caves. Specifically, Dwarves under Gimli's leadership."

The news caught Gúthwyn by surprise. Only twice had she set foot in the Glittering Caves of Aglarond, a vast subterranean network beneath the mountains surrounding Helm's Deep; but she remembered well the splendor of them, and what a marvel it was to behold the strange rock formations. To hear that her brother would open them to outsiders—and not just any outsiders, but Dwarves, who were known first and foremost for their desire to mine deep into the earth—was jarring, and she did not know what to think of it.

Erkenbrand noticed her expression. "He says Gimli can be trusted not to overextend the Dwarves' enterprises. And the commerce they bring will benefit the Westfold, now that we finally have a surplus of food to trade with."

"So you believe it will help?"

"Aye. I had my doubts, it is true. Still, the king's reasoning is sound, and I cannot deny it will be a relief when we can count upon an army of dwarves to defend the Keep if necessary."

Gúthwyn found herself agreeing with that. While there was little expectation of Rohan facing such a threat as Saruman's army once more, the Battle of Helm's Deep remained prominent in their memories. It was certainly better to be safe than sorry.

"My nephew sends his regards," Erkenbrand said after a moment.

Gúthwyn's heart ached at the reminder of Tun. She had not heard from him since her move to Emyn Arnen, as they were both too mindful of Brithwen to pick up the quill; as a result, what little news she had of him came from her correspondence with Éomer, a paltry substitute for what had once been a thriving friendship.

"How are he and Brithwen doing?" she inquired, trying her best to sound casual and yet not indifferent.

"Quite well." Erkenbrand was also measuring his tone carefully. "Tun has been accompanying me on patrols of late. He has a keen eye and sharp instincts, and the younger Riders look up to him. It does him good to get out of the city once in a while."

Gúthwyn wondered if his wife shared the same sentiments.

"He and Brithwen might be relocating to the Hornburg," Erkenbrand remarked, as if he had read her mind.

"You mean, leaving Edoras?" Gúthwyn asked blankly.

Erkenbrand nodded. "If we are indeed to welcome Dwarves into the kingdom, there will be opportunities aplenty for the men who do business with them."

"And the women," Gúthwyn had to point out.

"And the women," Erkenbrand agreed with a chuckle. "Tun is no trader, of course, but there will be much to keep him occupied at the Hornburg. And Brithwen, too."

He said this last part with a smile in her direction, but Gúthwyn hardly noticed. She was unsettled by the notion of Tun leaving Edoras; too many things had changed, and there was nothing she could do but observe from a distance as everything familiar slipped further and further away. Elfwine was learning how to be a prince, the warriors she had grown up around now had grey in their beards, and her childhood best friend was leaving their home. Only Tun had not been her best friend—or even a close friend, really—for years, and she herself no longer dwelled in Edoras.

_We are all getting older,_ she thought sadly. _Except for Legolas._

As she gave some reply to Erkenbrand, she glanced up at the high table, where she had last seen Legolas, but his seat was empty. In fact, most of the table had been vacated, and the remaining guests conversed in small groups: Aragorn with Pippin and Faramir (Elboron now sleeping soundly in his father's arms), and Éowyn and Arwen opposite their husbands. Haiweth sat beside Éowyn, listening with rapt attention to all that the two women said, and looking nervous yet pleased when her opinion was sought.

Just as Gúthwyn was turning back to Erkenbrand, a dancing flame caught her eye. She looked and saw that it was not a fire, but rather the mysterious Elven woman, who had relinquished her post at the doors and was now talking to someone in a corner of the room. Gúthwyn watched her hair shimmer beneath the light as she spoke, and nearly a full minute passed before she took any notice of the woman's companion. Then, with a start, she realized it was Legolas.

_Who is this guard?_ Gúthwyn wondered for what felt like the dozenth time that night, scrutinizing Legolas's expression for any hint of his relationship with the woman. He laughed at something she had said, and his reply was lightning-quick; they were bantering, she thought, like close friends.

_Or flirting._

The suggestion entered her mind, unbidden, and she was alarmed by its presence. It was not right for her to speculate like this, especially since she knew all too well what it was like to be the subject of others' conjectures. Besides, did Elves even flirt?

She turned away from the two of them and resolutely engaged herself in the conversation at her own table. Éomer's men were glad to welcome her into their midst, though a number of jokes were hastily cut off, and there were others she pretended not to hear. The occasional bout of ribaldry aside, she took pleasure in being surrounded by her native tongue after a year of living in a realm where few understood it.

Every once in a while, she glanced at the main table, keeping a discreet watch over Hammel and Haiweth. Fortunately, the children did not seem inclined to move: Hammel was plying Glóin with questions, and Haiweth would never pass up the chance to be in Queen Arwen's presence. This held true for the next hour, until Gúthwyn looked up again and saw that Éowyn was no longer at the table, leaving Arwen and Haiweth alone in what appeared to be a serious discussion. Arwen's features were inscrutable, yet Haiweth's were filled with hope.

Cold, icy fear placed a slender finger on Gúthwyn's heart. Was Arwen going against her wishes and offering to Haiweth the lady-in-waiting position? She could imagine Haiweth confessing that she would love to accept, but Gúthwyn would not allow it; and then she and Arwen would put their heads together, planning to present their case in such a fashion as to make it impossible for Éomund's daughter to refuse. Or perhaps—Gúthwyn's fists clenched—she might not even be consulted, and instead Éowyn would make the decision.

Alarmed by all the sinister possibilities, Gúthwyn bid farewell to Éomer's men and headed for the high table, determined to put a polite yet decisive end to the queen's meddling. Before she reached her destination, someone stepped into her path, and she nearly knocked them over in her haste. Her gaze still fixed on Haiweth, she muttered an apology and tried to go around the person.

Then she felt a gentle touch at her arm, and a familiar voice said her name.

"Oh—Legolas, I am so sorry, I did not realize it was you." She blushed as she looked up at him, wondering what he must have thought of her clumsiness and uncouth manners.

Luckily, he was smiling at her, though the gesture did not seem to reach his eyes. "It is quite all right. Have I caught you at a bad time? Do you have business elsewhere?"

"No, not at all," she answered reflexively, before remembering her intent to rescue Haiweth. She felt rather foolish now: was she to brush Legolas aside and storm up to the high table, confronting the queen of Gondor and causing a scene in front of everyone? It was a ridiculous notion… but what would happen if she did nothing?

"Are you sure?" Legolas had sensed her hesitation.

Yes, it _was_ a ridiculous notion, she told herself. "Yes, I am," was what she told Legolas. "Although I ought to be asking you that question. You must have many guests to attend to."

The question of the Elven woman's identity was on the tip of her tongue, but she bit it back.

"And you are not least among them," Legolas responded, making her blush. "I hope you have been enjoying yourself tonight."

Gúthwyn assured him that she had. "Everything you have done is wonderful. The food especially—Elfwine loved those golden cakes. We could not figure out what made them so sweet."

"You must be talking about the Beornings' honey cakes." Legolas locked eyes with her, and she suspected they were both remembering that moment in which she had seen him watching her—but she did not mention it, and neither did he. "They have great farms on their lands with fields full of flowers, and countless beehives which are as precious to them as their own dwellings. Yet in the days of Beorn, it was rare indeed for foreigners to be given these cakes, and even now his descendants are still cautious. It is well my father is on good terms with them, for Elfwine and I have similar tastes."

Grinning, Gúthwyn inquired, "Were these the cakes you told me about once, when your father had some set aside for an important dinner and you ate them all?"

"Aye, the very same. Fortunately, I no longer have to resort to thievery." Legolas's eyes shone with amusement, and she was once again reminded that he looked very handsome tonight; but she did not dwell on that thought, as it produced an odd tugging sensation in her stomach.

"I am glad to hear it," she managed.

"How are Hammel and Haiweth? Have they found anything here to their liking?"

Gúthwyn could not say that they had, but she wanted to for Legolas's sake. "They have both been entertained tonight," she began, which was at least the truth. "Hammel has been learning much from Gimli's father on the subject of blacksmithing. And I believe he has been reading the books that were on his nightstand when we arrived, which I must thank you for leaving there—at least, I assume it was you—since I know he will not."

"I hope they will be of interest to him. I realized while I was examining my library that we have few books concerning the histories of Men, so I cannot hope to compete with Faramir's collection, but I thought Hammel would prefer them to tales of the Elves."

"You are very kind to him. Thank you." For the thousandth time, she marveled at Legolas's generosity, at the nobleness of his heart, at his endless supply of patience.

"You need not thank me," he replied, as she had known he would.

There was a pause in their conversation, the silence filled with far-off music and laughter. Gúthwyn cast around for another topic, but she found it difficult to think when that piercing blue gaze was upon her. At length, he cleared his throat, but when he spoke it sounded as if he had not quite succeeded and something were still inside. "Your hair—the flowers—"

"What? Oh—" She had nearly forgotten about them. "Queen Arwen wore flowers at the new year celebrations, so Haiweth wanted me to do the same." Lest Legolas think her presumptuous, she hastily clarified, "Not that it is much of a comparison, of course, but Haiweth is always trying to follow the latest fashions in Minas Tirith and—well—Éowyn said the flowers were growing wild in the woods, I hope you do not mind that we used them—"

"Not at all. They are—they are a lovely sight on you."

Gúthwyn blushed. "W-What kind are they? Éowyn said they were called star… star somethings, but she did not know much about them."

"May I have a closer look?"

Gúthwyn reached behind to pull a lock of her hair forward, then reconsidered—since she could not tell where the blossoms were, she did not want to risk upsetting Haiweth's arrangements. After a slight hesitation, she simply turned around, allowing him to see the whole effect.

For a long moment, he said nothing, and all she could hear were the partygoers surrounding them. Just when she was about to turn back, his voice sounded again, nearer than it had been before. "May I?"

Gúthwyn glanced over her shoulder. He was now a foot away, those captivating eyes upon hers, and his palm was extended as if to scoop up one of the flowers—but it was not moving, and she knew that if she said the word he would pull it back.

So the word she said was, "Yes."

Several seconds passed before she felt the lightest of touches in her hair. She swallowed, but not in fear, and prayed no one was watching. All too soon, Legolas's fingers curled gently around one of the stems, and his movements stilled. Had she not just given him permission, she would never have known that he was there.

And if she took but one step back, her body would come into contact with his.

"Ah, I know what these are." She had almost forgotten asking him about the flowers, and at first she had no idea what he was referring to. "Star clusters, was it?"

"Yes, that was what Éowyn called them," she answered, somewhat breathlessly.

"I bought them in Minas Tirith. The trader was from Harad, and he spoke a little of my tongue—he gave them the name _giloth_, which is a slightly… unfaithful rendering of 'star clusters.' But I do not doubt that 'star clusters' itself is only an approximation of its true name in the language of the Haradrim."

"You sound like Merry," she said, grinning.

"Do I?" He sounded amused, and she was willing to bet that he was smiling. "Well, in any event, I brought them back here and thought to let them grow wild, for they are not overly invasive. And now someone has put them to better use."

Suddenly self-conscious, she turned back to face him, wondering if he thought the decoration silly.

"My apologies, I was not—" Legolas's fingers twitched, but his hand had returned to his side. When he spoke again, there was something strange in his voice, and it took a few seconds for her to understand what was different: the words were stiff, and flat, as if he were determined to conceal his emotions. "I was not making fun of you. You look—You look—"

"Legolas!" An Elf Gúthwyn had never seen before appeared at his side, and murmured something in their own language. Legolas's expression was indecipherable as he listened, and when the Elf was done he gave a curt nod. The Elf vanished so quickly that Gúthwyn might have sworn he had never been there at all.

"My apologies," Legolas said to her; she almost flinched at how distant he sounded. "My father has summoned me; I must go and speak with him."

Gúthwyn nodded, and watched as he turned to leave. _Perhaps I have offended him somehow—yet we were only discussing the flowers…_

"Gúthwyn?"

She glanced up; Legolas was looking back at her, and his voice had become familiar again. She smiled, relieved. "Yes?"

"Will you save a dance for me?"

_As if there are dozens of others lined up for a turn,_ she thought, amused and touched; Legolas always seemed to have a better opinion of her than she herself did. "Of course."

Legolas inclined his head, and resumed his departure; then he stopped once more. "Also," he began, but the rest was lost in the din of the crowd. When she frowned in confusion, he returned to her, and they were so close he could have tucked his chin over her head. She felt her pulse quicken, and she almost missed what he said.

"A dear friend of mine has unexpectedly joined us tonight, and I would like to introduce her to you. I think you will enjoy her company, as the two of you have much in common. Does this sound agreeable?"

Gúthwyn's breath caught in her throat—he could only be referring to the Elven woman. "Y-Yes, certainly," she managed, suppressing all the questions that came to mind. "I would be happy to meet her."

Legolas grinned, and for a moment his gratitude was recompense enough; but then he took his leave, promising to find her again, and there was nothing for her to do but speculate about the Elven woman's identity… and why Legolas had never spoken of her before, in all the years in which she had known him.

_Well,_ she thought, _at least I will be able to report to Haiweth afterwards._

A number of odd sensations seized her at once: the feeling of a silent, invisible weight on her back; the stiffening of her shoulders; the uncomfortable prickling her scalp as all the hairs stood on end. She realized they had been there for quite some time, and she had subconsciously attributed them to her conversation with Legolas—but in his absence they were heightened, and brought an entirely different message. She was being watched.

Slowly, Gúthwyn turned around. In her direct line of vision was Thranduil, standing tall and proud beside a pillar carved as if out of branches. Which was more unyielding, the stone or the Elvenking, she could not have guessed. Yet even from across the room she knew, deep in her bones, that he had been studying her for a long time, perhaps had never let her out of his sight.

There was an Elf beside him, speaking quietly in his ear, albeit not the one who had summoned Legolas. To her surprise, Gúthwyn recognized him, though it was a moment before she remembered where she had seen him and it was a greater endeavor to recall his name. _Tirendil,_ she thought, testing out the sound. _Yes, that was it._ He had come with Legolas to Rohan once; what was it Legolas had said about him? _"I believe my father encouraged him to settle at the colony in order to ensure I stay out of trouble."_ But there was something else, some other way in which he had stood out to her… He had not liked her, she was certain, though she could not have explained why.

He, too, was looking at her, even as he muttered something to his king. Thranduil nodded, his expression troubled, and focused his gaze back on Gúthwyn. Both Elves realized in the same instant that the observers had become the observed; and as they stared at her, and she stared back, it occurred to her that she was seeing not disapproval, but disquiet.

It was then that Legolas appeared in front of his father, breaking the spell. Gúthwyn whirled around, nearly knocking over a servant in her haste, and took refuge in the crowd.


End file.
